AT thought of hills where streams begin And little rills foregather I'd leave this fishing in the sea And go to seek them rather— For seas are terrible lone things, The gulls scream so. ...and the salt stings. I've bits of gear that's mine to leave, Nor lack I for a penny, And what it is I'd go to seek I know no more than any. ... But maybe, up beyond, I'd find A little hill. ...to ease my mind. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LAUGHTER (YOUTH SPEAKS TO HIS OWN OLD AGE) by CONRAD AIKEN NO MATTER WHAT, AFTER ALL, AND THAT BEAUTIFUL WORD SO by HAYDEN CARRUTH FOR ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S EVE by MALCOLM COWLEY A SONG OF COURAGE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON STREET CRIES: 6. TO RICHARD WAGNER by SIDNEY LANIER |