A nearly empty highway Furls beneath me In a ribbon of polished platinum As I go through a valley Done in golds and burnt greens and rich light Toward Cumberland. The mountain stands In massive remoteness Against a porcelain sky: Ash-blue and veiled Like an old dream draped in memory gauze. The lonely call of the dove, The slow cry of a quail, And the ceaseless song of harvest flies -- Of such is the music of Deep summer In wood and open field. Corn fragrances and smell of hay Meet in heat waves over the land. An old mountain man, A tall exquisite mountain girl, A stark cabin with gaunt eyes and hollow mouth -- I see them in the blur of my hurry. Then the long climb up the mountain, With fleeting etchings of peaceful distances, And I am again come to Monteagle. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE WOMAN'S GENITALS by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE SAVING WAY by HAYDEN CARRUTH WOODSMOKE AT 70 by HAYDEN CARRUTH TO A FRIEND I CAN'T FIND by JAMES GALVIN DELUSION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON LITTLE BROTHER'S STORY by KATHERINE MANSFIELD SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: EUGENE CARMAN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE AWAKENING by EDGAR LEE MASTERS HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 4. DIFFERENCE OF OPINION WITH LYGDAMUS by EZRA POUND |