I come back to my garment of hills
Now my soul is laid bare.
For I gave him my lips and my limbs
And my hands, and long hair--
I gave him all things that were mine,
This my garment of clay.
So have need of my garment of hills,
To hide me away--
O high hills, O loved hills, O hills
That are healing and strength,
I have grown to your measure at last,
I can wear you at length.
I have loved, so my soul is upgrown,
Adult in its nakedness
And I, as the naked, cry.
* * * * *
And the wild, kind hills are my dress.