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William Wordsworth - There is an Eminence,--o
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There is an Eminence,—of these our hills 
The last that parleys with the setting sun; 
We can behold it from our orchard-seat; 
And, when at evening we pursue out walk 
Along the public way, this Peak, so high 
Above us, and so distant in its height, 
Is visible; and often seems to send 
Its own deep quiet to restore our hearts. 
The meteors make of it a favourite haunt: 
The star of Jove, so beautiful and large 
In the mid heavens, is never half so fair 
As when he shines above it. `Tis in truth 
The loneliest place we have among the clouds. 
And She who dwells with me, whom I have loved 
With such communion, that no place on earth 
Can ever be a solitude to me, 
Hath to this lonely Summit given my Name.
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