Great men are few, and stand apart;
  And seem divinest when remote. 
  From brain to brain, and heart to heart,
  No thoughts of genial commerce float;
  Each holds his own exclusive mart.

  And when we meet them, face to face,
  And hand to hand their greatness greet,
  Our steps we willingly retrace,
  And gather humbly at their feet,
  With those who live upon their grace.

  And man and woman—­mount and vale—­
  Have charms, each from the other seen,—­
  The robe of rose, the coat of mail: 
  The springing turf, the black ravine: 
  The tossing pines, the waving swale: 

  Which please the sight with constant joy. 
  Thus living, each has power to call
  The other’s thoughts with sweet decoy,
  And one can rise and one can fall
  But to distemper or destroy.

  The dewy meadow breeds the cloud
  That rises on ethereal wings,
  And wraps the mountain in a shroud
  From which the living lightning springs
  And torrents pour, that, lithe and loud,

  Leap down in service to the plains,
  Or feed the fountains at their source;
  And only thus the mountain gains
  The vital fulness of the force
  That fills the meadow’s myriad veins.

  In fair, reciprocal exchange
  Of good which each appropriates,
  The meadow and the mountain-range
  Nourish their beautiful estates;
  And lofty wild and lowly grange

  Thrive on the commerce thus ordained;
  And not a reek ascends the rock,
  And not a drift of dew is rained,
  But eyrie-brood and tended flock
  By the sweet gift is entertained.

  A meadow may be fair and broad,
  And hold a river in its rest;
  Or small, arid with the silver gaud
  Of a lone lakelet on its breast,
  Or but a patch, that, overawed,

  Clings humbly to the mountain’s hem: 
  It matters not:  it is the charm
  That cheers his life, and holds the stem
  Of every flower that tempts his arm,
  Or greets his snowy diadem.

  Dolts talk of largest and of least,
  And worse than dolts are they who prate
  Of Beauty captive to the Beast;
  For man in woman finds his mate,
  And thrones her equal at his feast.

  She matches meekness with his might,
  And patience with his power to act,—­
  His judgment with her quicker sight;
  And wins by subtlety and tact
  The battles he can only fight.

  And she who strives to take the van
  In conflict, or the common way,
  Does outrage to the heavenly plan,
  And outrage to the finer clay
  That makes her beautiful to man.

  All this, and more than this, she saw
  Who reigned in Philip’s house and heart. 
  Far off, he seemed without a flaw;
  Close by, her tasteless counterpart,
  And slave to Nature’s common law.

  To climb with fierce, familiar stride
  His dizzy paths of life and thought,
  Would but degrade him from her pride,
  And bring the majesty to naught
  Which love and distance magnified.