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.