A MOUNTAIN GATEWAY
I know a vale where I would go one day,When June comes back and all the world once moreIs glad with summer. Deep with shade it lies,A mighty cleft in the green bosoming hills,A cool, dim gateway to the mountains’ heart.On either side the wooded slopes come down,Hemlock and beech and chestnut; here and thereThrough the deep forest laurel spreads and gleams,Pink-white as Daphne in her loveliness—That still perfection from the world withdrawn,As if the wood gods had arrested thereImmortal beauty in her breathless flight.Far overhead against the arching blueGray ledges overhang from dizzy heights,Scarred by a thousand winters and untamed.The road winds in from the broad riverlands,Luring the happy traveler turn by turn,Up to the lofty mountains of the sky.And where the road runs in the valley’s foot,Through the dark woods the mountain stream comes down,Singing and dancing all its youth awayAmong the boulders and the shallow runs,Where sunbeams pierce and mossy tree trunks hang,Drenched all day long with murmuring sound and spray.There, light of heart and footfree, I would goUp to my home among the lasting hills,And in my cabin doorway sit me down,Companioned in that leafy solitudeBy the wood ghosts of twilight and of peace.And in that sweet seclusion I should hear,Among the cool-leafed beeches in the dusk,The calm-voiced thrushes at their evening hymn—So undistraught, so rapturous, so pure,It well might be, in wisdom and in joy,The seraphs singing at the birth of timeThe unworn ritual of eternal things.Smart SetBliss Carman
I know a vale where I would go one day,When June comes back and all the world once moreIs glad with summer. Deep with shade it lies,A mighty cleft in the green bosoming hills,A cool, dim gateway to the mountains’ heart.On either side the wooded slopes come down,Hemlock and beech and chestnut; here and thereThrough the deep forest laurel spreads and gleams,Pink-white as Daphne in her loveliness—That still perfection from the world withdrawn,As if the wood gods had arrested thereImmortal beauty in her breathless flight.Far overhead against the arching blueGray ledges overhang from dizzy heights,Scarred by a thousand winters and untamed.The road winds in from the broad riverlands,Luring the happy traveler turn by turn,Up to the lofty mountains of the sky.And where the road runs in the valley’s foot,Through the dark woods the mountain stream comes down,Singing and dancing all its youth awayAmong the boulders and the shallow runs,Where sunbeams pierce and mossy tree trunks hang,Drenched all day long with murmuring sound and spray.There, light of heart and footfree, I would goUp to my home among the lasting hills,And in my cabin doorway sit me down,Companioned in that leafy solitudeBy the wood ghosts of twilight and of peace.And in that sweet seclusion I should hear,Among the cool-leafed beeches in the dusk,The calm-voiced thrushes at their evening hymn—So undistraught, so rapturous, so pure,It well might be, in wisdom and in joy,The seraphs singing at the birth of timeThe unworn ritual of eternal things.Smart SetBliss Carman
I know a vale where I would go one day,When June comes back and all the world once moreIs glad with summer. Deep with shade it lies,A mighty cleft in the green bosoming hills,A cool, dim gateway to the mountains’ heart.
I know a vale where I would go one day,
When June comes back and all the world once more
Is glad with summer. Deep with shade it lies,
A mighty cleft in the green bosoming hills,
A cool, dim gateway to the mountains’ heart.
On either side the wooded slopes come down,Hemlock and beech and chestnut; here and thereThrough the deep forest laurel spreads and gleams,Pink-white as Daphne in her loveliness—That still perfection from the world withdrawn,As if the wood gods had arrested thereImmortal beauty in her breathless flight.
On either side the wooded slopes come down,
Hemlock and beech and chestnut; here and there
Through the deep forest laurel spreads and gleams,
Pink-white as Daphne in her loveliness—
That still perfection from the world withdrawn,
As if the wood gods had arrested there
Immortal beauty in her breathless flight.
Far overhead against the arching blueGray ledges overhang from dizzy heights,Scarred by a thousand winters and untamed.The road winds in from the broad riverlands,Luring the happy traveler turn by turn,Up to the lofty mountains of the sky.
Far overhead against the arching blue
Gray ledges overhang from dizzy heights,
Scarred by a thousand winters and untamed.
The road winds in from the broad riverlands,
Luring the happy traveler turn by turn,
Up to the lofty mountains of the sky.
And where the road runs in the valley’s foot,Through the dark woods the mountain stream comes down,Singing and dancing all its youth awayAmong the boulders and the shallow runs,Where sunbeams pierce and mossy tree trunks hang,Drenched all day long with murmuring sound and spray.
And where the road runs in the valley’s foot,
Through the dark woods the mountain stream comes down,
Singing and dancing all its youth away
Among the boulders and the shallow runs,
Where sunbeams pierce and mossy tree trunks hang,
Drenched all day long with murmuring sound and spray.
There, light of heart and footfree, I would goUp to my home among the lasting hills,And in my cabin doorway sit me down,Companioned in that leafy solitudeBy the wood ghosts of twilight and of peace.
There, light of heart and footfree, I would go
Up to my home among the lasting hills,
And in my cabin doorway sit me down,
Companioned in that leafy solitude
By the wood ghosts of twilight and of peace.
And in that sweet seclusion I should hear,Among the cool-leafed beeches in the dusk,The calm-voiced thrushes at their evening hymn—So undistraught, so rapturous, so pure,It well might be, in wisdom and in joy,The seraphs singing at the birth of timeThe unworn ritual of eternal things.
And in that sweet seclusion I should hear,
Among the cool-leafed beeches in the dusk,
The calm-voiced thrushes at their evening hymn—
So undistraught, so rapturous, so pure,
It well might be, in wisdom and in joy,
The seraphs singing at the birth of time
The unworn ritual of eternal things.
Smart SetBliss Carman