 | Poems of reflection |  |
55
MY COMRADE.
Out from my window westward
I turn full oft my face;
But the mountains rebuke the vision
That would encompass space;
They lift their lofty foreheads
To the kiss of the clouds above,
And ask, “With all our glory,
Can we not win your love?”
I turn full oft my face;
But the mountains rebuke the vision
That would encompass space;
They lift their lofty foreheads
To the kiss of the clouds above,
And ask, “With all our glory,
Can we not win your love?”
I answer, “No, oh mountains!
I see that you are grand;
But you have not the breadth and beauty
Of the fields in my own land;
You narrow my range of vision
And you even shut from me
The voice of my old comrade,
The West Wind wild and free.”
I see that you are grand;
But you have not the breadth and beauty
Of the fields in my own land;
You narrow my range of vision
And you even shut from me
The voice of my old comrade,
The West Wind wild and free.”
But to-day I climbed the mountains
On the back of a snow-white steed,
And the West Wind came to greet me—
He flew on the wings of speed.
On the back of a snow-white steed,
And the West Wind came to greet me—
He flew on the wings of speed.
| Poems of reflection | |