The Mountains
Still, and blanched, and cold, and lone, The icy hills far off from me With frosty ulys overgrown Stand in their sculptured secrecy. No path of theirs the chamois fleet Treads, with a nostril to the wind; O'er their ice-marbled glaciers beat No wings of eagles in my mind - Yea, in my mind these mountains rise, Their perils dyed with evening's rose; And still my ghost sits at my eyes And thirsts for their untroubled snows.
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"Still, and blanched, and cold, and lone,..."
Walter De La Mare's contribution to classic is further solidified by the brilliance found in "The Mountains"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...