I cannot see the mountains for the fences,
Although the hills aspire unto the sky,
And this near length of wooden palings rises
Not taller, much, than any man is high.

I cannot hear the chimes of distant churches,
Though they repeat the music of the sky,
Because the noisy crowd beneath my window
Is shouting forth anathemas close by.

Yet oft to see the beauty of a painting
I must stand back and gaze through half-closed eye;-
Some things we miss because they are too distant,
And some because of standing too near by!