The mountains in their overwhelming might Moved me to sadness when I saw them first, And afterwards they moved me to delight; Struck harmonies from silent chords which burst Out into song, a song by memory nursed; For ever unrenewed by touch or sight Sleeps the keen magic of each day or night, In pleasure and in wonder then immersed. All Switzerland behind us on the ascent, All Italy before us we plunged down St. Gothard, garden of forget-me-not: Yet why should such a flower choose such a spot? Could we forget that way which once we went Tho' not one flower had bloomed to weave its crown? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE GRASSHOPPER; TO MY NOBLE FRIEND MR. CHARLES COTTON by RICHARD LOVELACE BANTAMS IN PINE-WOODS by WALLACE STEVENS ODE: INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE DIFFERENCE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH DEATH by EVGENY ABRAMOVICH BARATYNSKY THE DAIRYMAIDS TO PAN by GORDON BOTTOMLEY THE ROCK OF LIBERTY; A PILGRIM ODE, 1629-1920: 1. VISION by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN |