Classic and Contemporary Poetry
IN A CLOUD RIFT, by LUCY LARCOM Poet's Biography First Line: Upon our loftiest white mountain peak Last Line: And heaven but earth raised into purer air. Subject(s): White Mountains, New Hampshire | ||||||||
UPON our loftiest White Mountain peak, Filled with the freshness of untainted air, We sat, nor cared to listen or to speak To one another, for the silence there Was eloquent with God's presence. Not a sound Uttered the winds in their unhindered sweep Above us through the heavens. The gulf profound Below us seethed with mists, a sullen deep, From thawless ice-caves of a vast ravine Rolled sheeted clouds across the lands unseen. How far away seemed all that we had known In homely levels of the earth beneath, Where still our thoughts went wandering -- "Turn thee!" Blown Apart before us, a dissolving wreath Of cloud framed in a picture on the air: The fair long Saco Valley, whence we came; The hills and lakes of Ossipee; and there Glimmers the sea! Some pleasant, well-known name With every break to memory hastens back; Monadnock, -- Winnipesaukee, -- Merrimack. On widening vistas broader rifts unfold: Far off into the waters of Champlain Great sunset summits dip their flaming gold; There winds the dim Connecticut, a vein Of silver on aerial green; and here, The upland street of rural Bethlehem; And there, the roofs of Bethel. Azure-clear Shimmers the Androscoggin; like a gem Umbagog glistens; and Katahdin gleams Uncertain as a mountain seen in dreams. Our own familiar world, not yet half known, Nor loved enough, in tints of Paradise Lies there before us, now so lovely grown, We wonder what strange film was on our eyes Ere we climbed hither. But again the cloud, Descending, shuts the beauteous vision out; Between us the abysses spread their shroud: We are to earth, as earth to us, a doubt. Dear home folk, skyward seeking us, can see No crest or crag where pilgrim feet may be. Who whispered unto us of life and death As silence closed upon our hearts once more? On heights where angels sit, perhaps a breath May clear the separating gulfs; a door May open sometimes betwixt earth and heaven, And life's most haunting mystery be shown A fog-drift of the mind, scattered and driven Before the winds of God: no vague unknown Death's dreaded path, -- only a curtained stair; And heaven but earth raised into purer air. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CLOUDS ON WHITEFACE by LUCY LARCOM THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN; PROFILE NOTCH, FRANCONIA by JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE AMONG THE HILLS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER MOUNT AGIOCHOOK by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER ON THE HILLS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE BRIDAL OF PENNACOOK by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER A STRIP OF BLUE by LUCY LARCOM THE BROWN THRUSH by LUCY LARCOM |
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