. The mountains about Williamstown . E TO FLORAS GLEN No wait at Floras Glen; no word to hintHer modest welcome and her wanton wiles!—Page 50 49 50 TKe Movintains About Williamsto-wn No wait at Floras Glen; no word to hintHer modest welcome and her wanton wiles!They seldom lured me in the past, and here—Why, here, at present, look!—there lifts Bee Hill!Come, serve with me, my day-long short apprenticeship, and compass thisBefore the longer climb that waits beyond;—Ay, like an archer when he tries his bow,Essay this littler bend; and, by-and-by,Our limbs will limber for the larg
. The mountains about Williamstown . E TO FLORAS GLEN No wait at Floras Glen; no word to hintHer modest welcome and her wanton wiles!—Page 50 49 50 TKe Movintains About Williamsto-wn No wait at Floras Glen; no word to hintHer modest welcome and her wanton wiles!They seldom lured me in the past, and here—Why, here, at present, look!—there lifts Bee Hill!Come, serve with me, my day-long short apprenticeship, and compass thisBefore the longer climb that waits beyond;—Ay, like an archer when he tries his bow,Essay this littler bend; and, by-and-by,Our limbs will limber for the larger aim. Now tramp we up the last vales long ascent; Now, on the narrow ridge, see half of earth, And more than half of heaven, each side of us; And here, upon the peak, at last, we pierce The core where all sublimeness finds a center. Not all, you say?—Then tell me where on earth A lesser summit taps a larger view;^— See, south, the Berkshires, west of them, the Catskills, Then, northward, up the far, wide Hudson valley,. ROADWAY THROUGH TORREYS WOODS The aisleThat cleaves its glorious arch through Torreys woods.—Page 54 51 52 TKe Mountains Aboxit Williamsto-wn The Adirondacks and the great Green range,With, here and there, a knoll that gives a hintOf highlands past the north Connecticut,But, best of all, close by, the Housatonics,And, walled against the east, this Grey lock groupHeaped near like models to reveal in fullWhat wealth were in them all, if clearly day like this that lifts a life on highWhere spirit seems to breathe its native airIs better than to dream a score of nightsWhere sleep is tinkering in its dark garageThe tire that gains mere physical repair. And why should one descend? Why cannot nowThis whirling world whisk off the willing spiritAnd let it shoot through space, and go and go,And never come again? Ah, why should fateLeave thought entangled like an eagle hereWhose wings are bound, and feet can only crawl
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookidmountainsabo, bookyear1913
