I LOVE the glorious mountains, proud and bleak! No tree, not e'en a flower, dares set its foot On the white shroud that clothes the lofty peak, Whose bare crags give no holding to a root. No vine's love-clinging arm, no golden wheat, Nothing that tells of man and servile toil; In their pure air and free, sail eagles fleet, No vulgar sound their majesty to spoil. They are not useful. True! No profit yield. Their might, their beauty is their only boast; Yet please me more than the fat fertile field So far from heaven, that sight of God is lost. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MOUNTAIN WHIPPOORWILL (A GEORGIA ROMANCE) by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE SMALLISH SON by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE GOLDEN WEDDING OF STERLING AND SARAH LANIER by SIDNEY LANIER NEIGHBORS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |