Classic and Contemporary Poetry
MOUNTAIN PICTURES: 2. MONADNOCK FROM WACHUSETT, by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: I would I were a painter, for the sake Last Line: Swelling from angel lips and harps of seraphim. Variant Title(s): Wachusett Subject(s): Monadnock (mountain), New Hampshire; Wachusett (mountain), Massachusetts | ||||||||
I WOULD I were a painter, for the sake Of a sweet picture, and of her who led, A fitting guide, with reverential tread, Into that mountain mystery. First a lake Tinted with sunset; next the wavy lines Of far receding hills; and yet more far Monadnock lifting from his night of pines His rosy forehead to the evening star. Beside us, purple-zoned, Wachusett laid His head against the West, whose warm light made His aureole; and o'er him, sharp and clear, Like a shaft of lightning in mid-launching stayed, A single level cloud-line, shone upon By the fierce glances of the sunken sun, Menaced the darkness with its golden spear! So twilight deepened round us. Still and black The great woods climbed the mountain at our back; And on their skirts, where yet the lingering day On the shorn greenness of the clearing lay, The brown old farm-house like a bird's-nest hung. With home-life sounds the desert air was stirred: The bleat of sheep along the hill we heard, The bucket plashing in the cool, sweet well, The pasture-bars that clattered as they fell; Dogs barked, fowls fluttered, cattle lowed; the gate Of the barnyard creaked beneath the merry weight Of sun-brown children, listening, while they swung, The welcome sound of supper-call to hear; And down the shadowy lane, in tinklings clear, The pastoral curfew of the cow-bell rung. Thus soothed and pleased, our backward path we took, Praising the farmer's home. He only spake, Looking into the sunset o'er the lake, Like one to whom the far-off is most near: "Yes, most folks think it has a pleasant look; I love it for my good old mother's sake, Who lived and died here in the peace of God!" The lesson of his words we pondered o'er, As silently we turned the eastern flank Of the mountain, where its shadow deepest sank, Doubling the night along our rugged road: We felt that man was more than his abode, -- The inward life than Nature's raiment more; And the warm sky, the sundown-tinted hill, The forest and the lake, seemed dwarfed and dim Before the saintly soul, whose human will Meekly in the Eternal footsteps trod, Making her homely toil and household ways An earthly echo of the song of praise Swelling from angel lips and harps of seraphim. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NOT UNCONCERNED WACHUSETT REARS HIS HEAD by HENRY DAVID THOREAU MOUNTAINS by HENRY DAVID THOREAU THE MOUNTAINS IN THE HORIZON by HENRY DAVID THOREAU AMY WENTWORTH; FOR WILLIAM BRADFORD by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER AN AUTOGRAPH (1) by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER ASTRAEA by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER AT LAST by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER AT PORT ROYAL by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER BARBARA FRIETCHIE [SEPTEMBER 13, 1862] by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER BARCLAY OF URY by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER BENEDICITE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER BROWN OF OSSAWATOMIE [DECEMBER 2, 1859] by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |
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