The speaker is haunted by a memory of crossing a ridge into unfamiliar countryside one harvest evening. He recalls the scarlet clouds, the half-hidden stiles in the hedgerow, and a welcoming inn full of strangers. At the time, it felt simply like a vivid adventure. A year later, while leaning on his spade, he suddenly sees it all again in his mind, and only then understands what he has lost — that moment of arrival, poised on the edge of the unknown. From then on, he often pauses to gaze beyond the skyline, aching to return for just a couple of days. But the poem insists that going back is impossible, like a restless stream trying to climb a waterfall and re-enter the still mountain lake it once left. The mood is wistful and quietly sorrowful, steeped in the ache of knowing a perfect piece of the past is forever out of reach.
Over the Hills — Summary
OFTEN and often it came back again To mind, the day I passed the horizon ridge To a new country, the path I had to find By half-gaps that were stiles once in the hedge, The pack of scarlet clouds running across The harvest evening that seemed endless then And after, and the inn where all were kind, All were strangers. I did not know my loss Till one day twelve months later suddenly I leaned upon my spade and saw it all, Though far beyond the sky-line. It became Almost a habit through the year for me To lean and see it and think to do the same Again for two days and a night. Recall Was vain: no more could the restless brook Ever turn back and climb the waterfall To the lake that rests and stirs not in its nook, As in the hollow of the collar-bone Under the mountain's head of rush and stone.