These mountains are too tall; these crags too starkly loom. They will not clothe our shivering souls as cities must. We walk on moonlit paths to forest-hidden doom. These spires that spike the sky, we cannot bear their thrust. The distant horses' bells ring pale as tepee smoke; And woman's laughter tinkles thin and strangely shrill: The wraith-like moon now wears a mountain like a cloak. Oh, city noises, break! The world is all too still! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE EXAMPLE by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES FRINGED GENTIAN by EMILY DICKINSON THE BALLAD OF PROSE AND RHYME by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON LULLABY by CHARLES LUTWIDGE DODGSON THE MOTHERLAND by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |