Clarens! sweet Clarens[339] birthplace of deep Love!

Thine air is the young breath of passionate Thought;

Thy trees take root in Love; the snows above,[kk]

The very Glaciers have his colours caught,

And Sun-set into rose-hues sees them wrought [21.B.]

By rays which sleep there lovingly: the rocks,[kl]

The permanent crags, tell here of Love, who sought

In them a refuge from the worldly shocks,

Which stir and sting the Soul with Hope that woos, then mocks.