Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, RAIN IN HIGH MOUNTAINS, by ETHEL ROMIG FULLER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

RAIN IN HIGH MOUNTAINS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Last night the south wind herded a mass
Last Line: Vanishing over hell-gate trail.
Subject(s): Rain


Last night the south wind herded a mass
Of woolly clouds through Hell-Gate Pass --
In the van of the scrambling flock, a ewe
Ebon as sin, and as ugly too --
Down over the boulders and canyon snow
To graze on the flat by the lake below;
The meadow wherein we had made our camp.
All during the dark we could hear them stamp;
All through the chill, star-smothered hours
Could hear a cropping of Alpine flowers,
And there was a tinkle we couldn't say whether
Was brook, or bell on an old bell-wether.

When morning broke, the meadow lay
As flowery bright as yesterday;
No lily trampled, no lupin brushed,
Not a columbine or an aster crushed.
Wasn't it strange, when our eyes had seen
The flock descend? Had heard it glean?
And at Hell-Gate Pass was never a ewe
Between the rim and the sky's clear blue;
Only a bell that was likely a brook
On its singing way in a riffled crook;
Only a wisp of a woolly tail
Vanishing over Hell-Gate trail.





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