A cabin the mountainside hid in a grassy nook, 
With door and window open wide, where friendly stars may look, 
The rabbit shy can patter in, the winds may enter free —
Who throng around the mountain throne in living ecstasy.

And when the sun sets dimmed in eve, and purple fills the air,
I think the sacred hazel-tree is dropping berries there, 
From starry fruitage waved aloft where Connla's well o'erflows ; 
For, sure, the immortal waters run through every wind that blows.

I think, when night towers up aloft and shakes the trembling dew,
How every high and lonely thought that thrills my spirit through
Is but a shining berry dropped down through the purple air,
And from the magic tree of life the fruit falls everywhere.