The Mountain The mountain is full of sweet air lacking— An answer to earth kept forever climbing high; It is a throne where one can rest and lie, A step on reaching toward the great sky.
Its very rock has sung before the soil— Like roots of seed, a past rooted deep inside
Has ripened toward the path so far and wide
To bring a change, this place where love can cry
Just past the edge of everything we need.
When rock and water blend like emotions— It is an answer from old wounds to make new fates. Where mingled looks and sounds spin faster than time, Where breezes brush and breathe, sunny eyes glowing.
To climb this mountain is to reach a kingdom— An answer where trees stand, reaching high upon high, Composed of dreams, an answer to dreams;
My love! how we keep moving toward the star.
That mirth, that deep and brightened place, This mountain that I crested seems to sway And find itself as clouds too drifted in tired grace! To gather knowledge in chiseled winds of air And on high ground, we gather all of the sweeps. Because the mountain, drawing us, will make
What answers we shall sigh toward all mountain-tops,
And run so fast that echoes will grow tired to say, And mountain air will fill our every thought and breath, My love! That light of my most high ascent,— To lose and find all the sweetness in nature strode, A mountain born of ancient earth will still survive!(As this journey stretched—past earth to heaven’s bed).
- Robert Frost