Robin Hyde

Mountain Song
 
Not the grey trees bending
And not these quiet grasses,
But the gold flame descending
On bare mountain passes
My eyes would be seeing.

Not this kind dew,
Nor the wind of gentle places,
But the hill-wind, steel-blue
Where the brown torrent races,
One with my being.

No speech of streams
Nor of white dancing fountains,
But the dark song that dreams
In the hush of the mountains
My lips would be saying . . .
My heart would be praying.

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Last updated 11 September, 2003