The cool mist rolls against the ridge; we stand, walkers in cloud, and feel upon our faces the breath of heaven and heart-beat of the land, the cleanness of the high and wind-washed places. Upon the mountain, here there is no fear: we are set free from worries of the town, knowing the joy of standing on the sheer sharp cliff where the wild water hurtles down. Thus must the gods feel as in wreaths of cloud they stride above the vast disordered world, throw back their tawny heads and laugh aloud, looking below to where the hills are furled. To this bare height we come to find release: on the high trails, and here alone, is peace. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS [MAY 9, 1775] by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT SECOND OPINION by STEPHEN CUSHMAN THE NEGRO SPEAKS OF RIVERS by JAMES LANGSTON HUGHES ULTIMA THULE: NIGHT by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW HOME THOUGHTS FROM EUROPE by HENRY VAN DYKE |