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HILL DUTIFUL
He ceas’d. Throughout the great plain, far and wide,
Silence. Throughout the sky and lonely air,
Silence. There was not any that replied;
And Death, for all his ranging, came not there.
Silence. Throughout the sky and lonely air,
Silence. There was not any that replied;
And Death, for all his ranging, came not there.
. . . What stirred him? For at length his hands laid hold
Upon the toothed rock. His nerveless feet
Trail’d on the scorching sand, dizzily roll’d
His head aside, and all that heavy heat
Of valley-mist hung on him—none the less
He grasp’d the rock, groaning for pain, and drew
His body slowly up with hard distress.
That day the barren rock drank blood for dew.
Upon the toothed rock. His nerveless feet
Trail’d on the scorching sand, dizzily roll’d
His head aside, and all that heavy heat
Of valley-mist hung on him—none the less
He grasp’d the rock, groaning for pain, and drew
His body slowly up with hard distress.
That day the barren rock drank blood for dew.
On, on, and ever upward! Till I thought:
“The man, poor fool, so weak he is, and blind,
Must fall, in chilly Vertigo’s clutches caught—
Meet fate," I said, “for such a maniac mind!”
“The man, poor fool, so weak he is, and blind,
Must fall, in chilly Vertigo’s clutches caught—
Meet fate," I said, “for such a maniac mind!”
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