I Am Disquieted When I see Many Hills
I am disquieted when I see many hills,
As one who looks down on the backs of tremendous cattle,
Shoulder to shoulder, munching in silence the grass
In a timeless region.
Where time is not, and event and breath are nothing,
Yet we who are lost in time, growing and fading
In the shadow of majesty, cannot but dumbly yearn
For its stronger oblivion.
Reject this archaic craving to be a herdsman
Of the immortals. Until they trample you down
Be still the herdsman's boy among these giants
And the ridges of laurel.