Blue Hills beneath the Haze

Blue hills beneath the haze That broods o’er distant ways, Whether ye may not hold Secrets more dear than gold,— This is the ever new Puzzle within your blue. Is ’t not a softer sun Whose smiles yon hills have won? Is ’t not a sweeter air That folds the fields so fair? Is ’t not a finer rest That I so fain would test? The far thing beckons most, The near becomes the lost. Not what we have is worth, But that which has no birth Or breath within the ken Of transitory men.