To the Hills!

'T is eight miles out and eight miles in,         Just at the break of morn.     'T is ice without and flame within,         To gain a kiss at dawn!     Far, where the Lilac Hills arise         Soft from the misty plain,     A lone enchanted hollow lies         Where I at last drew rein.     Midwinter grips this lonely land,         This stony, treeless waste,     Where East, due East, across the sand,         We fly in fevered haste.     Pull up! the East will soon be red,         The wild duck westward fly,     And make above my anxious head,         Triangles in the sky.     Like wind we go; we both are still         So young; all thanks to Fate!     (It cuts like knives, this air so chill,)         Dear God! if I am late!     Behind us, wrapped in mist and sleep         The Ruined City lies,     (Although we race, we seem to creep!)         While lighter grow the skies.     Eight miles out only, eight miles in,         Good going all the way;     But more and more the clouds begin         To redden into day.     And every snow-tipped peak grows pink         An iridescent gem!     My heart beats quick, with joy, to think         How I am nearing them!     As mile on mile behind us falls,         Till, Oh, delight!    I see     My Heart's Desire, who softly calls         Across the gloom to me.     The utter joy of that First Love         No later love has given,     When, while the skies grew light above,         We entered into Heaven.