And can it be that these green hills have known the depth of glacial chills?
Have felt the slow, determined path of moving ice, and cracking glass?
When did the earth warm just enough to shape the lake, the ridge, the bluff?
And can it be that these green hills can know the joy and sense the thrills
That threaten to o'ertake me now, and leave me with the wonder 'how'?
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