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All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems
permission to use
provided by the author. |
Thirty-seven sings of mountain
glory,
Having settled down to what will be.
In dreams there is a tincture of regret
Regarding hopes that haven't happened yet,
The residue of what was lost at sea.
Yet thirty-seven knows quite well that story.
Sing, then, of mountains--wind-shaped,
root-sheared, hoary,
Each rising like the mist in mystery,
Vistas motionless and passionate,
Emblems of the heart's own ecstasy,
Needing nothing in their patient fury. |
