The Hills of Cualann
In the youth of summer
The hills of Cualann
Are two golden horns,
Two breasts of childing,
Two tents of light.
In the age of winter
They are two rusted swords,
Two waves of darkness.
Two moons of ice.
Poemas sobre el tema: hill
Poemas sobre el tema «hill» en Poets.by.
The Moon
The moon climbs and climbs.
Till it is no bigger
Than a moon-penny.
Darkness and the hills lie together
As in a bed.
Sleeping lovers.
Beyond the Barn
I rose up with the sun
And climbed the hill.
I saw the white mists run
And shadows run
Down into hollow woods.
I went with the white clouds
That swept the hill.
A wind struck the low hedge trees
And clustering trees,
And rocked in each tall elm.
The long afternoon was calm
When down the hill
I came, and felt the air cool,
The shadows cool;
And I walked on footsore,
Saying, "But two hours more,
The Kestrel
In a great western wind we climbed the hill
And saw the clouds run up, ride high and sink;
And there were shadows running at our feet
Till it seemed the very earth could not be still,
Nor could our hearts be still, nor could we think
Our hearts could ever be still, our thought less fleet
Than the dizzy clouds, less than the flying wind.
Eastward the valley and the dark steep hill
And other hills and valleys lost behind
In mist and light. The hedges were not yet bare
Though the wind picked at them as he went by.
The woods were fire, a fire that dense or clear
Burned steady, but could not burn up the shadows
Rooted where the trees' roots entangled lie,
In darkness; or a flame burned solitary
Who is it that Answers?
The clouds no more are flocking
After the flushing sun;
Bees end their long droning,
The bat's hunt is begun;
And the tired wind that went flittering
Up and down the hill
Lies like a shadow still,
Like a shadow still.
Who is it that's calling
Out of the deepening dark,
Calling, calling, calling?--
No!--yet hark!
The sleepy wind wakes, carrying
Up and down the hill
A voice how small and still,
How sweet and still!
Washed in Silver
Gleaming in silver are the hills,
Blazing in silver is the sea,
And a silvery radiance spills
Where the moon drives royally.
Clad in silver tissue I
March magnificently by.
Where the Demons Grin
The hill was low, but stretched away
A straggling mile or so to where
The sea was stamping, tossing spray
Beyond its bulwarks black and bare :
A sullen sea of gray.
Ah me, it was so desolate,
And sadder for the sea-bird's cry
Thrillingly thin. There seemed a weight
Brooding, as if the leaden sky
Hung heavier for hate.
The grasses jerked as they were stung
By vicious winds. A daisy's head
Crouched in a tuft till it was flung
From its uneasy, troubled bed
And tost the waves among.
A bent, old man was climbing slow
That County
Go up, go up your ways of varying love,
Take each his darling path wherever lie
The central fires of secret memory;
Whether Helvellyn tower the lakes above;
Or black Plinlimmon time and tempest prove;
Or any English heights of bravery.
I will go climb my little hills to see
Severn, and Malverns, May Hill’s tiny grove.
No Everest is here, no peaks of power
Astonish men. But on the winding ways
White in the frost-time, blinding in full June blaze,
A man may take all quiet heart’s delight--
Village and quarry, taverns and many a tower
That saw Armada beacons set alight.
At Sunset
From green to gold, from gold to amethyst,
Transmuted by the sun's last lingering ray,
The tranquil hills in dreaming silence lay,
Wrought to a beauty eye could not resist;
Till, folded in with veils of purple mist
That slowly wrapt them from reluctant day,
They mingled with the dusk and flowed away,
Renewing with the stars their nightly tryst.
And as the soft enchantments round us spread,
And twilight with its pensive shadows fell —
Loosed from the prison-wards of care and dread,
Lured from our selfish griefs by beauty's spell —
Along dim thoroughfares our thoughts were led
To haunts of peace where love and silence dwell.
Buttonholes
Cut a little opening
And overcast it, then
(Throwing the thread across each stitch)
Stitch it round again.
A moment's stitching finds it
Finished ; but not until
The sun has burned its beauty out
And dropped behind the hill.
Promise
Through the moil and the gloom they have issued
To the steps of the upwinding hill,
Where the sweet, dulcet pipes of tomorrow
In their preluding rhapsodies trill.
With a thud comes a stir in the bosom,
As there steals on the sight from afar,
Through a break of a cloud's coiling shadow
The gleam of a bright morning star!
The Hills of Sewanee
Sewanee Hills of dear delight,
Prompting my dreams that used to be,
I know you are waiting me still tonight
By the Unika Range of Tennessee.
The blinking stars in endless space,
The broad moonlight and silvery gleams,
Tonight caress your wind-swept face,
And fold you in a thousand dreams.
Your far outlines, less seen than felt,
Which wind with hill propensities.
In moonlight dreams I see you melt
Away in vague immensities.
And, far away, I still can feel
Your mystery that ever speaks
Of vanished things, as shadows steal
Across your breast and rugged peaks.