There are the Alps. What is there to say about them? They don't make sense. Fatal glaciers, crags cranks climb, jumbled boulder and weed, pasture and boulder, scree, et l'on entend, maybe, le refrain joyeux et leger. Who knows what the ice will have scraped on the rock it is smoothing? There they are, you will have to go a long way round if you want to avoid them. It takes some getting used to. There are the Alps, fools! Sit down and wait for them to crumble! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A UTILITARIAN VIEW OF THE MONITOR'S FIGHT by HERMAN MELVILLE IO VICTIS by WILLIAM WETMORE STORY DEATH AT DAYBREAK by ANNE REEVE ALDRICH TRAVELOGUE by EVA K. ANGLESBURG STANZAS TO A LADY by JOHN CODRINGTON BAMPFYLDE EPISTLE TO DR. ENFIELD ON HIS REVISITING WARRINGTON IN 1789 by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE APOLOGY OF THE BISHOPS IN ANSWER TO BONNER'S GHOST by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 42. 'GRECIAN AND ENGLISH' by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |