Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, IN THE BERKSHIRE HILLS, by LOUIS UNTERMEYER



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IN THE BERKSHIRE HILLS, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: How can the village dead remain so / still
Last Line: And dance in triumph on my crumbling shroud.
Alternate Author Name(s): Lewis, Michael
Subject(s): Berkshire Hills, Massachusetts; Mountains; Villages; Hills; Downs (great Britain)


HOW can the village dead remain so still...
Surely they tingle with the winey air,
When the skies riot and the sunsets flare
And all the world becomes a flaming hill.
Surely the driest dust must turn and thrill
When these wild breezes sweep out all despair—
And lakes are bluest, pools are starriest where
The streaming heavens overflow and spill.

Oh, were it I that lay like any clod,
Though buried under rock and gnarlèd tree,
I would arise, and, through the clinging sod,
Go struggling upward, passionate and proud;
Laugh, with the winds and mountains
watching me,
And dance in triumph on my crumbling shroud.





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