When from this mighty mountain's top
  My wandering eyes go forth,
Trees look like bonnets, fields like flags,
  In all those miles of earth.
I see afar big towns look now
  Like flocks of sheep washed white;
And villages - their straggling lambs -
  May never meet my sight.

Windows - no more than drops of dew -
  Are sparkling in the green;
The sun in heaven seems small indeed,
  To light so vast a scene.
A mighty stretch of land like this,
  Doth make me shut my eyes;
For when I look I fear to see
  Its sudden fall or rise.