THEY scarred the hillside here to build a town: gaunt above slag and cinder, and despising the paint-splashed cabins, muddy pink and brown, the tipple looms — vast, black, uncompromising. All day the wagons lumber past: the wide squat wheels hub deep, the horses strained and still, the headlong rain pours down all day to hide the blackened stumps, the ulcerated hill. O beauty: all my life I loved you fiercely and even in this desolate place, where rain drips endlessly from all the eaves, and scarcely a leaf sprouts, and the earth is wracked with pain beauty is hammering, pounding through my brain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BLIZZARD by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS PLAIN LANGUAGE FROM TRUTHFUL JAMES by FRANCIS BRET HARTE SOUTH WIND by SIEGFRIED SASSOON THE LIVING GOD by ABRAHAM IBN EZRA THE SOLITARY TOMB by BERNARD BARTON THE DOOMED OAK; IN IMITATION OF ANATOLE FRANCE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE FAIRY FORT by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN |