Are you calling me, my mountain, Calling me to you once more, To your winding, briery pathways And your soft pine-needled floor? Those who think you stern, unfriendly, Do not know your gentle heart, Do not know your giant hemlocks Or the way the shy birds dart Out from your dark, hidden tangles Past your merry little streams That go babbling on so gaily Making music for my dreams. High up on your wind-swept summit, Close beneath the sapphire sky All the lovely winds of heaven Whirl and swirl and flutter by; Down below you in the valley, On an early April day Pink waves roll in gentle rythm Undulating, swiftly sway— Wild peach trees in fluttering blossom Wandering far as eye can see Flushing all the little valley With a rosy mystery. City streets lie here before me, Concrete buildings hem me in But my heart is gaily wandering Your green pathways cool and dim, Trails that wander off in memory Beckon me persistently And I hear my distant mountain Calling coaxingly to me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVE BEING ALL ONE by ROBERT FROST THE SEVEN ARTS by ROBERT FROST I LOOKED FOR LIFE AND DID A SHADOW SEE by JAMES GALVIN MARTHA WASHINGTON by SIDNEY LANIER ITALIAN PICTURES: THE COSTA SAN GIORGIO by MINA LOY AT THE MERMAID TAVERN (APRIL 10, 1613) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DOMESDAY BOOK: ARCHIBALD LOWELL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS NORTH WIND TO DUTIFUL BEAST MIDWAY BETWEEN DIAL & FOOT OF GARDEN CLOCK by MARIANNE MOORE |