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Snow clings to their rough flanks,
Their shoulders heave under the red and purple blows
Of the sun-set;
Detached from earth and sky,
They emerge,
They tread mightily up the valley.
Their shoulders heave under the red and purple blows
Of the sun-set;
Detached from earth and sky,
They emerge,
They tread mightily up the valley.
And I watch them,
Mild beasts wading into the lake;
And I wonder they do not break its shining mirror.
***
The boatman glanced along its darkening side,
From the pale water paler with the night,
And in his face I saw a sturdy pride,
An understanding of its strength and height,
Its silences, its storms, its lonely ways:
He who had lived beside it all his days.
Mild beasts wading into the lake;
And I wonder they do not break its shining mirror.
***
The boatman glanced along its darkening side,
From the pale water paler with the night,
And in his face I saw a sturdy pride,
An understanding of its strength and height,
Its silences, its storms, its lonely ways:
He who had lived beside it all his days.
He pulled upon his oar and naught he said;
But in his eyes were hills inherited.
***
Under the iron wheels that lift us,
And about the sooty scars that tunnels make,
The mountain scatters flowers from an ample garden,
(Fox-glove and hare-bell pirouetting on the giddy ledges),
And we of the summer valley
Stumble shivering along its constant snows
On feet that never climbed.
But in his eyes were hills inherited.
***
Under the iron wheels that lift us,
And about the sooty scars that tunnels make,
The mountain scatters flowers from an ample garden,
(Fox-glove and hare-bell pirouetting on the giddy ledges),
And we of the summer valley
Stumble shivering along its constant snows
On feet that never climbed.
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