At length,
  Upon the tremulous bridge, that from beneath
  Seemed with a cobweb firmament to link
  The earthquake-shattered chasm, hung with shrubs,
  We passed with tears of rapture.  All the West,
  And even unto the middle South, was ribb’d
  And barr’d with bloom on bloom.  The sun beneath,
  Held for a space ’twixt cloud and wave, shower’d down
  Rays of a mighty circle, weaving over
  That varied wilderness a tissue of light
  Unparallel’d.  On the other side the moon,
  Half-melted into thin blue air, stood still
  And pale and fibrous as a wither’d leaf,
  Nor yet endured in presence of his eyes
  To imbue his lustre; most unloverlike;
  Since in his absence full of light and joy
  And giving light to others.  But this chiefest,
  Next to her presence whom I loved so well,
  Spoke loudly, even into my inmost heart,
  As to my outward hearing:  the loud stream,
  Forth issuing from his portals in the crag
  (A visible link unto the home of my heart),
  Ran amber toward the West, and nigh the sea,
  Parting my own loved mountains, was received
  Shorn of its strength, into the sympathy
  Of that small bay, which into open main
  Glow’d intermingling close beneath the sun
  Spirit of Love!  That little hour was bound,
  Shut in from Time, and dedicate to thee;
  Thy fires from heav’n had touch’d it, and the earth
  They fell on became hallow’d evermore.

  We turn’d:  our eyes met:  her’s were bright, and mine
  Were dim with floating tears, that shot the sunset,
  In light rings round me; and my name was borne
  Upon her breath.  Henceforth my name has been
  A hallow’d memory, like the names of old;
  A center’d, glory-circled memory,
  And a peculiar treasure, brooking not
  Exchange or currency; and in that hour
  A hope flow’d round me, like a golden mist
  Charm’d amid eddies of melodious airs,
  A moment, ere the onward whirlwind shatter it,
  Waver’d and floated—­which was less than Hope,
  Because it lack’d the power of perfect Hope;
  But which was more and higher than all Hope,
  Because all other Hope hath lower aim;
  Even that this name to which her seraph lips
  Did lend such gentle utterance, this one name
  In some obscure hereafter, might inwreathe
  (How lovelier, nobler then!) her life, her love,
  With my life, love, soul, spirit and heart and strength.

  ‘Brother,’ she said, ’let this be call’d henceforth
  The Hill of Hope’; and I replied:  ’O sister,
  My will is one with thine; the Hill of Hope.’ 
  Nevertheless, we did not change the name.