 | The Complete Works of Adelaide A. Procter |  |
OVER THE MOUNTAIN.
Like dreary prison walls
The stern grey mountains rise,
Until their topmost crags
Touch the far gloomy skies:
One steep and narrow path
Winds up the mountain's crest,
And from our valley leads
Out to the golden West.
The stern grey mountains rise,
Until their topmost crags
Touch the far gloomy skies:
One steep and narrow path
Winds up the mountain's crest,
And from our valley leads
Out to the golden West.
I dwell here in content,
Thankful for tranquil days;
And yet, my eyes grow dim,
As still I gaze and gaze
Upon that mountain pass,
That leads—or so it seems—
To some far happy land,
Known in a world of dreams.
Thankful for tranquil days;
And yet, my eyes grow dim,
As still I gaze and gaze
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That leads—or so it seems—
To some far happy land,
Known in a world of dreams.
And as I watch that path
Over the distant hill,
A foolish longing comes
My heart and soul to fill,
A painful, strange desire
To break some weary bond,
A vague unuttered wish
For what might lie beyond!
Over the distant hill,
A foolish longing comes
My heart and soul to fill,
A painful, strange desire
To break some weary bond,
A vague unuttered wish
For what might lie beyond!
In that far world unknown,
Over that distant hill,
May dwell the loved and lost,
Lost—yet belovèd still;
I have a yearning hope,
Half longing, and half pain,
That by that mountain pass
They may return again.
Over that distant hill,
May dwell the loved and lost,
Lost—yet belovèd still;
I have a yearning hope,
Half longing, and half pain,
That by that mountain pass
They may return again.
Space may keep friends apart,
Death has a mighty thrall;
There is another gulf
Harder to cross than all;
Yet watching that far road,
My heart beats full and fast—.
If they should come once more,
If they should come at last!
Death has a mighty thrall;
There is another gulf
Harder to cross than all;
Yet watching that far road,
My heart beats full and fast—.
If they should come once more,
If they should come at last!
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See, down the mountain side
The silver vapours creep;
They hide the rocky cliffs,
They hide the craggy steep,
They hide the narrow path
That comes across the hill—
Oh, foolish longing, cease,
Oh, beating Heart, be still!
The silver vapours creep;
They hide the rocky cliffs,
They hide the craggy steep,
They hide the narrow path
That comes across the hill—
Oh, foolish longing, cease,
Oh, beating Heart, be still!
| The Complete Works of Adelaide A. Procter | |