HILLS
by: Arthur Guiterman (1871-1943)
- NEVER loved your plains!--
- Your gentle valleys,
- Your drowsy country lanes
- And pleachéd alleys.
-
- I want my hills! -- the trail
- That scorns the hollow.--
- Up, up the ragged shale
- Where few will follow,
-
- Up, over wooded crest
- And mossy bowlder
- With strong thigh, heaving chest,
- And swinging shoulder,
-
- So let me hold my way,
- By nothing halted,
- Until, at close of day,
- I stand, exalted,
-
- High on my hills of dream--
- Dear hills that know me!
- And then, how fair will seem
- The lands below me,
-
- How pure, at vesper-time,
- The far bells chiming!
- God, give me hills to climb,
- And strength for climbing!
"Hills" is reprinted from
Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1915. Ed. William Stanley
Braithwaite. New York: Gomme & Marshall, 1915. |
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POEMS BY ARTHUR GUITERMAN |
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