THE hills call, the dew-glad morning hills, Above the dust and fever of the plain; Could I lay aside my yoke of old-time weariness; Could I take my staff and seek the hills again; The far hills where dawn is sweet with rain. After much thirst, much hungering at nightfall, When the long way beyond my striving seems, Would there come suddenly the keen, sweet breath of valleys, And, afar off, the sound of twilight streams, In quiet hills where dusk is cool with dreams? The murmuring of rivers and the wind, A starlit place of shadows, liquid, deep; Ah, and a night of infinite forgetting, Night of the calm great hills that vigil keep; The mother hills where weary men find sleep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CATHOLIC HYMN by EDGAR ALLAN POE STANZAS ON THE CONVERSION OF THE JEWS by BERNARD BARTON THE MAPLE TREE OVER THE WAY by LEVI BISHOP ON MY DEAR GRANDCHILD SIMON WHO DIED ... ONE MONTH AND ONE DAY OLD by ANNE BRADSTREET STRIKING by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY I SHALL FASHION SONGS by LOIS R. CARPENTER SONNET OF 'SCHIZOPHRENIA' by WILLIAM RODDY CHARLTON THE PARLIAMENT OF FOWLS [PARLEMENT OF FOULES] by GEOFFREY CHAUCER LYRICS OF THE RAIL: 3. THE SLEEPING-CAR by GEORGE HERBERT CLARKE |