He drove alone beside his sugar bush; His measure-pacing horse was not quite slow Enough to let him fill his deepening eyes With the wine-washed November afterglow. In silence sunk, he took the windy turn Round the gulfed woods, and past the Tories' well. The falls of Little River in his ears (Or in his memory!) sounded like a shell. The mountains had been hidden. Now, near home, He saw them: Windward, in its barren pride; Blaze, with its sunset rocks; and Pioneer, The cloven giant of that countryside. Their leaflessness, their stillness and their age He let his spirit drink. He slowed again His ancient horse, and stayed to look his fill All that last hour before the evening train. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MARY IN HEAVEN by ROBERT BURNS IN THE SHADOWS: 19 by DAVID GRAY (1838-1861) WILLIE WINKIE by WILLIAM MILLER UNDERWOODS: BOOK 1: 8. TO MINNIE (WITH A HAND-GLASS) by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON SONNET by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |