SO lovingly the clouds caress his head, -- The mountain-monarch; he, severe and hard, With white face set like flint horizon-ward; They weaving softest fleece of gold and red, And gossamer of airiest silver thread, To wrap his form, wind-beaten, thunder-scarred. They linger tenderly, and fain would stay, Since he, earth-rooted, may not float away. He upward looks, but moves not; wears their hues; Draws them unto himself; their beauty shares; And sometimes his own semblance seems to lose, His grandeur and their grace so interfuse; And when his angels leave him unawares, A sullen rock, his brow to heaven he bares. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PILGRIM [SONG], FR. THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS by JOHN BUNYAN THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 17. A LOVER'S PLEA by THOMAS CAMPION GOOD-BYE MY FANCY! by WALT WHITMAN UNDERNEATH THE BOUGH by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS ROUNDEL FOR THESE TIMES by ADELIA DOOLITTLE BAUER |