Here, 'neath the arch of the vast, clear sky,
⁠Where range upon range the remote grey hills
Far in the distance recede and die,
⁠There is no space for thy trivial ills.

On the low horizon towards the sea,
⁠Faint yet vivid, the lightnings play,
The lucid air is kind as a kiss,
⁠The falling twilight is cool and grey.
⁠What has sorrow to do with thee?
⁠Love was cruel? thou now art free.
⁠Life unkind? it has given thee this!