Mount Taylor is a grandma in her cap Looking from out her ruffles while she knits So quietly counting stitches while time flits And caring nothing ever, come what hap. All peacefully enthroned upon her chair While snow-lace cap falls down upon one eye She does not care how people may drift by Nor seeks one gift of praise, rude blame, or prayer. We come and go like ants beneath that dome Often unquiet, and never satisfied; Fevered with wants and cold with weary loss. Mount Taylor points us to our alter-home Lifting forever she may thus abide, Her cup held pure; while we mix gold with dross. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG, FR. ERNEST MALTRAVERS by EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER-LYTTON TIRED TIM by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE SANTORIN (A LEGEND OF THE AEGEAN) by JAMES ELROY FLECKER ODE ON THE DEATH OF HIS FATHER by JORGE MANRIQUE THE FLYING WORDS by MORRIS GILBERT BISHOP SELENE by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |