Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE MOUNTAINS IN THE HORIZON, by HENRY DAVID THOREAU Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: With frontier strength ye stand your ground Last Line: And mak'st thyself a clearing in the sky. Subject(s): Wachusett (mountain), Massachusetts | ||||||||
With frontier strength ye stand your ground -- With grand content ye circle round -- Tumultuous silence for all sound, Ye springing nursery of rills, Monadnock and the Peterborough hills -- Staid argument that never stirs, Outcircling the philosophers. While we enjoy a lingering ray, Ye still oertop the western day, Reposing yonder on God's croft Like solid stacks of hay. The iris of the sky, Ye run Round the horizon of its eye Whose pupil is the sun. Upon a fresh and airy day, When our globe ploughs its way In salter seas of light, Right opposite the bight Of some elysian bay, Ye are its dorsal fin, Tossing th'etherial spray With breezy din. From on Fair Haven's pier, For many a year. I've seen ye westward bound, Without a sound, Like some vast fleet Sailing through rain and sleet, Through winters cold and summer's heat. Ships of the line each one That westward run, Always before the gale, Under a press of sail, Convoying clouds Which cluster in your shrouds -- With your slant masts 'tis sixes and sevens But that ye rake the heavens, So near the edge ye go, Under the roof so low; With weight of metal all untold, I seem to feel ye in my firm seat here, Immeasurable depth of hold, And breadth of beam, and length of running gear. The vessels on the sea Are relative to ye, Sailing by sympathy. Late enterprises of mankind Some near income to find. Flitting from shore to shore, Their voyages soon are oer, But ye hold on upon your high emprise, Until ye find a shore Amid the skies. Crossing the pliant flood By swifter period, They with the noontide weigh, And glide before its ray To some retired bay, Their haunt -- Whence under tropic sun, They ceaseless run, Bearing gum Senegal and Tragicant. For such small ends Time gladly spends Itself into eternity, For this was ocean meant, For this the sun was sent, And moon was lent, And 'tis the winds' employment. Time waits but till the field is tilled, With such small deeds His lap is filled As that with seeds. Man's little acts are grand Beheld from land to land, There as they lie in time Within their native clime For which the world did wait, They are so great. No doubt that in the port from whence ye hail Your masters did not fail To register your wealth, For ye sail not by stealth, Skulking close in to land, With cargo contraband, But they who sent a venture out by ye Have set the sun to see Their honesty. Especial I remember thee, Wachusett, who like me Standest alone without society. My life is like a western sky Unto an eastern eye Of calm repose, Each moment tinted variously As the wind blows. Now streaming like the northern light, Each yet more north, more high, more bright, Subsiding on the shores of night, Like yonder field of grain It alway doth remain Firm at its root, Bending through all its length With graceful strength, Only the shadows glide From side to side, But still the deep grain doth abide. Anon it sighs along Like the breath of a song, Or the wind on the sedge, Or a tempest on the ledge, First swells then dies away Like a harp strain, Only a string doth stay To invite the wind again, -- But thou art far and blue and still, Mocking my infirm will, Thou steadfast hill. Upholding heaven, holding down earth, Thy pastime from thy birth, Not steadied by the one nor leaning on the other, May I approve myself thy worthy brother. Thy far blue eye, A remnant of the sky, See through the clearing or the gorge, Or from the windows of the forge Doth leaven all it passes by. Thou art our rostrum in the west, Some ancient victory's bequest, With nature's trophies fringed, And natural colors tinged, Not with the Tyrian dye, But with the azure of the sky Fronting an amphitheater of glory Greater than Greek or Roman story -- Their old nobility westering with the sun, Here to be done, perchance, or else begun. Nothing is true But stands 'tween me and you, Thou western pioneer Who know'st not shame nor fear, By venturous spirit driven Under the eaves of heaven, And canst expand thee there? And breath enough of air? The sun doth go behind thee not before, Briefly to mend his store, Even beyond the west With thy small stock thou migratest Into unclouded tracts, Without a pilgrims axe, Upon a loftier way Than our low western rout, Cleaving thy road on high With thy well tempered brow, And mak'st thyself a clearing in the sky. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 2. BY LAKE WACHUSETT by EDWARD CARPENTER NOT UNCONCERNED WACHUSETT REARS HIS HEAD by HENRY DAVID THOREAU MOUNTAINS by HENRY DAVID THOREAU GREAT FRIEND by HENRY DAVID THOREAU INDEPENDENCE by HENRY DAVID THOREAU INSPIRATION (2) by HENRY DAVID THOREAU KNOWLEDGE by HENRY DAVID THOREAU MY LIFE by HENRY DAVID THOREAU MY PRAYER by HENRY DAVID THOREAU ON THE SUN COMING OUT IN THE AFTERNOON by HENRY DAVID THOREAU |
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