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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=506900" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Mountain</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The mountain held the town as in a shadow<br>I saw so much before I slept there once:<br>I noticed that I missed stars in the west,<br>Where its black body cut into the sky.<br>Near me it seemed: I felt it like a wall<br>Behind which I was sheltered from a wind.<br>And yet between the town and it I found,<br>When I walked forth at dawn to see new things,<br>Were fields, a river, and beyond, more fields.<br>The river at the time was fallen away,<br>And made a widespread brawl on cobble-stones;<br>But the signs showed what it had done in spring;<br>Good grass-land gullied out, and in the grass<br>Ridges of sand, and driftwood stripped of bark.<br>I crossed the river and swung round the mountain.<br>And there I met a man who moved so slow<br>With white-faced oxen in a heavy cart,<br>It seemed no hand to stop him altogether.<br>'What town is this?' I asked.<br>'This? Lunenburg.'<br>Then I was wrong: the town of my sojourn,<br>Beyond the bridge, was not that of the mountain,<br>But only felt at night its shadowy presence.<br>'Where is your village? Very far from here?'<br>'There is no village-only scattered farms.<br>We were but sixty voters last election.<br>We can't in nature grow to many more:<br>That thing takes all the room!' He moved his goad.<br>The mountain stood there to be pointed at.<br>Pasture ran up the side a little way,<br>And then there was a wall of trees with trunks:<br>After that only tops of trees, and cliffs<br>Imperfectly concealed among the leaves.<br>A dry ravine emerged from under boughs<br>Into the pasture.<br>'That looks like a path.<br>Is that the way to reach the top from here?-<br>Not for this morning, but some other time:<br>I must be getting back to breakfast now.'<br>'I don't advise your trying from this side.<br>There is no proper path, but those that have<br>Been up, I understand, have climbed from Ladd's.<br>That's five miles back. You can't mistake the place:<br>They logged it there last winter some way up.<br>I'd take you, but I'm bound the other way.'<br>'You've never climbed it?'<br>'I've been on the sides<br>Deer-hunting and trout-fishing. There's a brook<br>That starts up on it somewhere-I've heard say<br>Right on the top, tip-top-a curious thing.<br>But what would interest you about the brook,<br>It's always cold in summer, warm in winter.<br>One of the great sights going is to see<br>It steam in winter like an ox's breath,<br>Until the bushes all along its banks<br>Are inch-deep with the frosty spines and bristles-<br>You know the kind. Then let the sun shine on it!'<br>'There ought to be a view around the world<br>From such a mountain-if it isn't wooded<br>Clear to the top.' I saw through leafy screens<br>Great granite terraces in sun and shadow,<br>Shelves one could rest a knee on getting up-<br>With depths behind him sheer a hundred feet;<br>Or turn and sit on and look out and down,<br>With little ferns in crevices at his elbow.<br>'As to that I can't say. But there's the spring,<br>Right on the summit, almost like a fountain.<br>That ought to be worth seeing.'<br>'If it's there.<br>You never saw it?'<br>'I guess there's no doubt<br>About its being there. I never saw it.<br>It may not be right on the very top:<br>It wouldn't have to be a long way down<br>To have some head of water from above,<br>And a good distance down might not be noticed<br>By anyone who'd come a long way up.<br>One time I asked a fellow climbing it<br>To look and tell me later how it was.'<br>'What did he say?'<br>'He said there was a lake<br>Somewhere in Ireland on a mountain top.'<br>'But a lake's different. What about the spring?'<br>'He never got up high enough to see.<br>That's why I don't advise your trying this side.<br>He tried this side. I've always meant to go<br>And look myself, but you know how it is:<br>It doesn't seem so much to climb a mountain<br>You've worked around the foot of all your life.<br>What would I do? Go in my overalls,<br>With a big stick, the same as when the cows<br>Haven't come down to the bars at milking time?<br>Or with a shotgun for a stray black bear?<br>'Twouldn't seem real to climb for climbing it.'<br>'I shouldn't climb it if I didn't want to-<br>Not for the sake of climbing. What's its name?'<br>'We call it Hor: I don't know if that's right.'<br>'Can one walk around it? Would it be too far?'<br>'You can drive round and keep in Lunenburg,<br>But it's as much as ever you can do,<br>The boundary lines keep in so close to it.<br>Hor is the township, and the township's Hor-<br>And a few houses sprinkled round the foot,<br>Like boulders broken off the upper cliff,<br>Rolled out a little farther than the rest.'<br>'Warm in December, cold in June, you say?'<br>'I don't suppose the water's changed at all.<br>You and I know enough to know it's warm<br>Compared with cold, and cold compared with warm.<br>But all the fun's in how you say a thing.'<br>'You've lived here all your life?'<br>'Ever since Hor<br>Was no bigger than a--' What, I did not hear.<br>He drew the oxen toward him with light touches<br>Of his slim goad on nose and offside flank,<br>Gave them their marching orders and was moving.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Frost">Robert Frost</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=506900" data-title="The Mountain de Robert Frost" data-description="The mountain held the town as in a shadow
I saw so much before I slept there once:
I noticed that I missed stars in the west,
Where its black body cut into the sky.
Near me it seemed: I felt it like a wall
Behind which I was sheltered from a wind...."></div>
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