Are you looking for some inspiration and motivation? Do you want to feel the power of the mountains? Then this article is for you!
Here, we have compiled a list of the most popular poems about mountains from renowned poets and authors, which will surely stir your soul and give you the courage and strength to take on any challenge.
We hope these poems for mountains will help you to appreciate the beauty and grandeur of nature and the power of the mountains. So, let’s get started!
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Famous Poems about Mountains
This collection of famous poems about mountains celebrates the beauty and majesty of these natural wonders.
1. Gorgeous Blue Mountain
by Hilda Conkling
I see a great mountain
Stand among clouds;
You would never know
Where it ended. . .
Oh, gorgeous blue mountain of my heart
and of my love for you!
2. The Mountain Stream
by Ellwood Haines Stokes
A gentle little sheltered stream,
As pure as pure could be;
Came trickling down the mountain side,
Timid and noiselessly.
In modesty it did its work,
And though so wondrous fair.
The busy world had scarcely known,
The little stream was there.
The mosses grew upon its banks.
The ferns with life were green;
And gracefully the wavelets kissed
The flowers that smiled between.
The beautiful was on its cheek,
And beauty at its side;
So beauty claimed the beautiful.
As bridegroom claims the bride.
Its daily task was sweetly done,
For work was happiness;
The sunlight smiled complacently.
And gave to work success:
While moss and fern, and fragile flower,
Each brought a greeting true;
The little maid beneath the hill,
Brought forth her blessing, too.
For lo! this gentle mountain stream,
While blessing ferns and flowers;
Had slaked the little maiden’s thirst
Through the long summer hours.
And when, each day, unconsciously,
Its strength grew greater still;
In grace and beauty flowing on.
It moved the distant mill.
So let my life be hid with God,
So may my heart be true,
And still go forth in quietness.
My little work to do;
And if a fern or humble moss.
My mission be to bless;
Lord, in the small or greater things,
O grant me sweet success!
3. Overwhelming Might
by Christina Rossetti
The mountains in their overwhelming might
Moved me to sadness when I saw them first,
And afterwards they moved me to delight;
Struck harmonies from silent chords which burst
Out into song, a song by memory nursed;
Forever unrenewed by touch or sight
Sleeps the keen magic of each day or night.
In pleasure and in wonder then immersed.
the majesty of the mountains is breath-taking!
4. Morning in The Mountains
by Alice Cary
Morn on the mountains! streaks of roseate light
Up the high east athwart the shadows run;
The last low star fades softly out of sight,
And the gray mists go forth to meet the sun.
And now from every sheltering shrub and vine.
And thicket wild with many a tangled spray.
And from the birch and elm and rough-browed pine,
The birds begin to serenade the day.
And now the [roaster] his sleepy harem thrills
With clarion calls, and down the flowery dells;
And from their mossy hollows in the hills
The sheep have started all their tinkling bells.
Lo, the great sun! and nature everywhere
Is all alive, and sweet as she can be;
A thousand happy sounds are in the air,
A thousand by the rivers and the sea.
The dipping oar, the boatman’s cheerful horn,
The well-sweep, creaking in its rise and fall;
And pleasantly along the springing corn,
The music of the ploughshare, best of all, –
The insect’s little hum, the whir and beat
Of myriad wings, the mower’s song so blithe,
The patter of the schoolboy’s naked feet.
The joyous ringing of the whetted scythe, –
The low of kine, the falling meadow bar,
The teamster’s whistle gay, the droning round
Of the wet mill-wheel, and the tuneful jar
Of hollow milk-pans, swell the general sound.
And by the sea, and in each vale and glen
Are happy sights, as well as sounds to hear,
The world of things, and the great world of men,
All, all is busy, busy far and near.
The ant is hard at work, and everywhere
The bee is balanced on her wings so brown;
And the black spider on her slender stair
Is running down and up, and up and down.
The pine-wood smoke in bright, fantastic curls,
Above the low-roofed homestead sweeps away.
And o’er the groups of merry boys and girls
That pick the berries bright, or rake the hay.
Morn on the mountains! the enkindling skies,
The flowery fields, the meadows, and the sea,
All are so fair, the heart within me cries.
How good, how wondrous good our God must be
5. The Hills of the Lord
by Wlliam C Gannett
God ploughed one day with an earthquake,
And drove His furrows deep!
The huddling plains upstarted,
The hills were all aleap!
But that is the mountains’ secret,
Age-hidden in their breast;
God’s peace is everlasting,”
Are the dream- words of their rest.
He hath made them the haunt of beauty,
The home elect of his grace;
He spreadeth his mornings on them,
His sunsets light their face.
His thunders tread in music
Of footfalls echoing long,
And carry majestic greeting
Around the silent throng.
His winds bring messages to them, –
Wild storm-news from the main;
They sing it down to the valleys
In the love-song of. the rain.
Green tribes from far come trooping,
And over the uplands flock;
He hath woven the zones together
As a robe for his risen rock.
They are nurseries for young rivers,
Nests for his flying cloud,
Homesteads for new-born races,
Masterful, free, and proud.
The people of tired cities
Come up to their shrines and pray;
God freshens again within them,
As He passes by all day.
And lo, I have caught their secret!
The beauty deeper than all!
This faith, – that Life’s hard moments,
When the jarring sorrows befall.
Are but God ploughing his mountains;
And those mountains yet shall be
The source of his grace and freshness.
And his peace everlasting to me.
6. Sunrise on the Mountains
by Drusilla Mary Child
The mountain peaks cast off their cloaks of dewy mist,
And stand revealed in the pure cold light of morn;
The shadows creep down the mountain to keep tryst
With night, to watch another day new-born.
The sun arising from his bed of rolling clouds
Imprints a burning kiss upon the virgin snows.
A roseate blush the mountain tops enshrouds,
While slowly with the pearly tint it glows.
Soon the mountain crags are bathed in golden showers,
And glorious soar and stand before God’s face.
The bird’s song rings about the radiant flowers,
The sun is in the heavens, in his place.
7. The Mountains of Life
by Catherine Pulsifer
The mountains are majestic
Full of beauty and grace
when we approach the mountain
we feel peace in this place.
A storm brewing in the mountains
can be a scary place
but when the sun shines on the mountain
we love this beautiful place.
Our lives can feel like a mountain
When things are good we sing
But when the challenges of life appear
we shutter at our feelings.
When faced with overwhelming tasks
Think of moving a mountain
taking one stone at a time and ask
for help from others to move the stone.
Don’t let life overwhelm you
Take one step at a time
and do the best that you can do
and peace will follow you.
So next time you see a mountain top
Admire its beauty
Don’t let the challenges of life you face stop
You from getting to the top!
Short Poems about Mountains
Here, with this collection of simple short poems about mountains explore the beauty and power of these majestic natural formations.
1. Mountain Tops
Oh, splendid are the mountain tops
That thrust aside the sky;
No dweller in the valley land
Has thrilled in them as I!
But lonely are the mountain tops
To him who walks apart—
No peasant in the valley land
Bears half so hurt a heart!
2. The Mountain
by Emily Dickinson
The mountain sat upon the plain
In his eternal chair,
His observation omnifold,
His inquest everywhere.
The seasons prayed around his knees,
Like children round a sire:
Grandfather of the days is he,
Of dawn the ancestor.
3. On the Mountain
by Mary Augusta Mason
All else lies far beneath me, or above,
And I, between two worlds, uncertain stand;
With eyes uplifted to a vision grand,
Yet without power to soar or upward move.
The steps to heaven are builded of our love,
And mine, alas, so timid on the land
Could never find the way without His hand.
Naught have I in my heart by which to prove
My right to something I ’ve not found below—
Except this constant, strong desire to rise;
It seems so strange the higher up we go—
The farther from earth’s sinful, suffering cries,
That our unworthiness should haunt us so,
And wreck us at the gate of Paradise.
4. Climbing a Mountain
High rises the Eastern Peak
Soaring up to the blue sky.
Among the rocks—an empty hollow,
Secret, still, mysterious!
Uncarved and unhewn,
Screened by nature with a roof of clouds.
Times and Seasons, what things are you
bringing to my life ceaseless change?
I will lodge forever in this hollow
Where Springs and autumns unheeded pass.
5. Alpine Glow
by Emily Dickinson
Our lives are Swiss,
So still, so cool,
Still, some odd afternoon,
The Alps neglect their curtains,
And we look farther on.
Italy stands the other side,
While, like a guard between,
The solemn Alps,
The siren Alps,
6. The Mountains
by Walter De La Mare
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.
7. The Mountains Are a Lonely Folk
by Hamlin Garland
The mountains they are silent folk
They stand afar—alone,
And the clouds that kiss their brows at night
Hear neither sigh nor groan.
Each bears him in his ordered place
as soldiers do, and bold and high
they fold their forests round their feet
and bolster up the sky.
8. For a Dutch Picture
by Hilda Conkling
When light comes creeping through the
That shine with mist,
When winds blow soft,
Windmills wake and whirl.
In Holland, in Holland,
Everything is cheerful
Across the sea:
White nets are beside the water
Where ships sail by.
The mountains begin to get blue,
The Dutch girls begin to sing,
The windmills begin to whirl.
Then night comes
the mountains turn dark gray
And faint away into night.
Not a bird chirps his song.
All is drowsy,
All is strange,
With the moon and stars shining round the world:
The wind stops,
The windmills stop
In Holland . . .
9. The Mountain Is an Emperor
by Lris Tree
The mountain is an Emperor.
The clouds are his beard, and the stars his diadem;
His bauble is the moon;
He is dressed in silver forests, and the mist his train;
His feet are two white rivers.
10. Snow-Capped Mountain
by Hilda Conkling
Snow-capped mountain, so white, so tall,
The whole sea
Must stand behind you!
Snow-capped mountain, with the wind on your forehead,
Do you hold the eagles’ nests?
You shine like a lily,
Yet with a different whiteness;
I should not dare to venture
Up your slippery towers,
For I am thinking you lean too far
Over the Edge of the World!
Funeral Poems about Mountains
Grief can be a difficult emotion to express, and sometimes poetry can be the perfect way to do so. These poems about mountains and death capture the majesty of the earth.
1. I Hold the Heights
by Geoffrey Winthrop Young
I have not lost the magic of long days,
I live them, dream them still
Still I am a master of the starry ways,
And freeman of the hills;
Shattered my glass, ere half the sands had run.
I hold the heights, I hold the heights, I won.
What if I live no more those kingly days?
Their night sleeps with me still.
I dream my feet upon the starry ways;
My heart rests in the hill.
I may not grudge, the little left undone.
I hold the heights, I keep the dreams I won.
2. I’m Climbing a Mountain
by Andrew Blakemore
I’m climbing a mountain
I reach out to touch the blue sky,
This feeling of freedom
Will live with me until I die.
I’m climbing a mountain
I feel the cool breeze on my face,
And the sun’s beating down
I’m forever at home in this place.
I’m climbing a mountain
I stop just to gaze at the view,
So clear the horizon
Like my every dream has come true.
I’m climbing a mountain
I feel like a bird in the air,
I’m gliding and soaring
And feel like I haven’t a care.
I’m climbing a mountain
The blue sky is turning to gold,
The sunset so peaceful
Such beauty is there to behold.
3. So We’ll Go No More A-Climbing
So we’ll go no more a-climbing
So late into the night,
Though the will be ne’er unyielding,
And the urge be still as bright.
For the rock outwears the man,
And cruel Time wears out the best,
But memories were made upon those stones,
Before you were laid to rest.
Though the day was made for scaling,
And the dusk gathers too soon,
You and me’ll go no more a-climbing
By the light of the moon.
by Henry David Thoreau
With frontier strength ye stand your ground,
With grand content ye circle round,
Tumultuous silence for all sound,
Ye distant nursery of rills,
Monadnock, and the Peterborough hills; —
Firm argument that never stirs,
Outcircling the philosophers, —
Like some vast fleet
Sailing through rain and sleet,
Through winter’s cold and summer’s heat;
Still holding on upon your high emprise,
Until ye find a shore amid the skies;
Not skulking close to land,
With cargo contraband;
For they who sent a venture out by ye
Have set the Sun to see
Ships of the line, each one,
Ye westward run,
Which cluster in your shrouds,
Always before the gale,
Under a press of sail,
With weight of metal all untold; —
I seem to feel ye in my firm seat here,
Immeasurable depth of hold,
And breadth of beam, and length of running gear.
Methinks ye take luxurious pleasure
In your novel western leisure;
So cool your brows and freshly blue,
As Time had nought for ye to do;
For ye lie at your length,
An unappropriated strength,
Unhewn primeval timber
For knees so stiff, for masts so limber,
The stock of which new earths are made,
One day to be our western trade,
Fit for the stanchions of a world
Which through the seas of space is hurled.
While we enjoy a lingering ray,
Ye still o’ertop the western day,
Reposing yonder on God’s croft,
Like solid stacks of hay.
So bold a line as ne’er was writ
On any page by human wit;
The forest glows as if
An enemy’s camp-fires shone
Along the horizon,
Or the day’s funeral pyre
Were lighted there;
Edged with silver and with gold,
The clouds hang o’er in damask fold,
And with fresh depth of amber light
The west is dight,
Where still a few rays slant,
That even Heaven seems extravagant.
5. Watatic Hill
Lies on the horizon’s sill
Like a child’s toy left overnight,
And other duds to left and right;
On the earth’s edge, mountains and trees
Stand as they were on air graven,
Or as the vessels in a haven
Await the morning breeze.
I fancy even
Through your defiles windeth the way to heaven;
And yonder still, in spite of history’s page,
Linger the golden and the silver age;
Upon the laboring gale
The news of future centuries is brought,
And of new dynasties of thought,
From your remotest vale.
But special I remember thee,
Wachusett, who like me
Standest alone without society.
Thy far blue eye,
A remnant of the sky,
Seen through the clearing of the gorge,
Or from the windows of the forge,
Doth leaven all it passes by.
Nothing is true,
But stands ‘tween me and you,
Thou western pioneer,
Who know’st not shame nor fear,
By venturous spirit driven
Under the eaves of heaven,
And canst expand thee there,
And breathe enough of air.
Even beyond the West
Into unclouded tracts,
Without a pilgrim’s axe,
Cleaving thy road on high
With thy well-tempered brow,
And mak’st thyself a clearing in the sky.
Upholding heaven, holding down earth,
Thy pastime from thy birth,
Not steadied by the one, nor leaning on the other;—
May I approve myself thy worthy brother!
6. Upon the Mountain’s Distant Head
by William Cullen Bryant
Upon the mountain’s distant head,
With trackless snows forever white,
Where all is still, and cold, and dead,
Late shines the day’s departing light.
But far below those icy rocks,
The vales, in summer bloom arrayed,
Woods full of birds, and fields of flocks,
Are dim with mist and dark with shade.
’Tis thus, from warm and kindly hearts,
And eyes where generous meanings burn,
Earliest the light of life departs,
But lingers with the cold and stern.
Poems about Mountains and Love
Exploring the connection between love and mountains, these mountain love poems dive into the beauty and power of these natural wonders.
1. Love on the Mountain
by Thomas Boyd
My love comes down from the mountain
Through the mists of dawn;
I look, and the star of the morning
From the sky is gone.
My love comes down form the mountain,
At dawn, dewy-sweet;
Did you step from the star to the mountain,
O little white feet?
O whence came your twining tresses
And your shining eyes,
But out of the gold of the morning
And the blue of the skies?
The misty morning is burning
In the sun’s red fire,
And the heart in my breast is burning
And lost in desire.
I follow you into the valley
But no word can I say;
To the East or the West I will follow
Till the dusk of my day.
2. To My Mountain
by Mahdah Payson
O my mountain, my mountain
Enveloped in your cloak of snow
Can you hear?
Temple of my night,
Cradle of my day,
Can you hear?
I warn you of the braggart of the sky,
The sun! the sun!
He outruns my warning words
To steal your snows,
O my mountain, my mountain.
Great body-guard of God
Can you hear?
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
The meadow and the mountain with desire
Gazed on each other, till a fierce unrest
Surged ‘neath the meadow’s seemingly calm breast,
And all the mountain’s fissures ran with fire.
A mighty river rolled between them there.
What could the mountain do but gaze and burn?
What could the meadow do but look and yearn,
And gem its bosom to conceal despair?
Their seething passion agitated space,
Till, lo! The lands a sudden earthquake shook,
The river fled, the meadow leaped and took
The leaning mountain in a close embrace.
4. Over the Land Is April
by Robert Louis Stevenson
Over the land is April,
Over my heart a rose;
Over the high, brown mountain
The sound of singing goes.
Say, love, do you hear me,
Hear my sonnets ring?
Over the high, brown mountain,
Love, do you hear me sing?
By highway, love, and byway
the snows succeed the rose.
Over the high, brown mountain
the wind of winter blows.
Say, love, do you hear me,
Hear my sonnets ring?
Over the high, brown mountain
I sound the song of spring,
I throw the flowers of spring.
Do you hear the song of spring?
Hear you the songs of spring?
5. Green Mountains
by James Russell Lowell
Ye mountains, that far off lift up your heads,
Seen dimly through their canopies of blue,
The shade of my unrestful spirit sheds
Distance-created beauty over you;
I am not well content with this far view;
How may I know what foot of loved-one treads
Your rocks moss-grown and sun-dried torrent beds?
We should love all things better, if we knew
What claims the meanest have upon our hearts:
Perchance even now some eye, that would be bright
To meet my own, looks on your mist-robed forms;
Perchance your grandeur a deep joy imparts
To souls that have encircled mine with light—
O brother-heart, with thee my spirit warms!
6. The Mountain Road
by Enid Derham
Coming down the mountain road
Light of heart and all alone,
I caught from every rill that flowed
A rapture of its own.
Heart and mind sang on together,
Rhymes began to meet and run
In the windy mountain weather
And the winter sun.
Clad in freshest light and sweet
Far and far the city lay
with her suburbs at her feet
Round the laughing bay.
Like an eagle lifted high
Half the radiant world I scanned,
Till the deep unclouded sky
Circled sea and land.
No more was thought a weary load,
Older comforts stirred within,
Coming down the mountain road
The earth and I were kin.
7. The Mountain and the Lake
by Robert William Service
I know a mountain thrilling to the stars,
Peerless and pure, and pinnacled with snow;
Glimpsing the golden dawn o’er coral bars,
Flaunting the vanished sunset’s garnet glow;
Proudly patrician, passionless, serene;
Soaring in silvered steeps where cloud-surfs break;
Virgin and vestal—oh, a very Queen!
And at her feet their dreams a quiet lake.
My lake adores my mountain—well I know,
For I have watched it from its dawn-dream start,
Stilling its mirror to her splendid snow,
Framing her image in its trembling heart;
Glassing her graciousness of greening wood,
Kissing her throne, melodiously mad,
Thrilling responsive to her every mood,
Gloomed with her sadness, gay when she is glad.
My lake has dreamed and loved since time was born;
Will love and dream till time shall cease to be;
Gazing to her in worship half forlorn,
Who looks towards the stars and will not see—
My peerless mountain, splendid in her scorn …
Alas! poor little lake! Alas! poor me!
8. Wild Mossy Mountains
by Robert Burns
Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide,
That nurse in their bosom the youth o’ the Clyde,
Where the grouse lead their coveys thro’ the heather to feed,
And the shepherd tends his flock as he pipes on his reed.
Not Gowrie’s rich valley, nor Forth’s sunny shores,
To me hae the charms o’yon wild, mossy moors;
For there, by a lanely, sequestered stream,
Besides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream.
Among the wild mountains shall still be my path,
Ilk stream foaming down its ain green, narrow strath;
For there, wi’ my lassie, the day lang I rove,
While o’er us unheeded flie the swift hours o’love.
She is not the fairest, altho’ she is fair;
O’ nice education but sma’ is her share;
Her parentage humble as humble can be;
But I lo’e the dear lassie because she lo’es me.
To Beauty what man but maun yield him a prize,
In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs?
And when wit and refinement hae polish’d her darts,
They dazzle our een, as they flie to our hearts.
But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond-sparkling e’e,
Has lustre outshining the diamond to me;
And the heart beating love as I’m clasp’d in her arms,
O, these are my lassie’s all-conquering charms!
Poems about Mountains and Beauty
This collection of poems explores the beauty of mountains and their profound effect on our lives. From the awe-inspiring grandeur of the highest peaks to the serenity of rolling hills, these are amazing.
1. Wonderful and Grand
by James G. Clarke
I saw the mountains stand
Silent, wonderful, and grand,
Looking out across the land
When the golden light was falling
On distant dome and spire;
And I heard a low voice calling,
“Come up higher, come up higher,
From the lowland and the mire,
From the mist of earth desire,
From the vain pursuit of pelf,
From the attitude of self;
Come up higher, come up higher.”
2. O Ye Mountains
by Ruby Archer
O ye Mountains, robed in grandeur,
Ye have dazed mine eyes with light,
‘Till all other things lack beauty,
Seeming paltry to your might.
Ye have borne me to your summits
Where the air is heavenly pure.
Now the breath in valleys lurking
Is oppressive to endure.
Ye have opened boundless wonders
Where my fearless eyes could rove.
Now I pine for wide horizons
In the limits of a grove.
But the bondage is less galling
Than unfettered liberty
With no wish, no innate power
To declare my spirit free.
3. Climb A Little Higher
by Ella Flagg Young
Those who live on the mountain
have a longer day than
those who live in the valley.
Sometimes all we need to
brighten our day is to
climb up a little higher.
4. The Upper Road
by Priscilla Leonard
Far lie the mountain crests against the sky;
How shall I find my way so lone, so high,
Without a chart, and with a heavy load?
Pilgrim, one certain Guide is thine at will,
Where the road forks, winding o’er plain and hill,
Whichever way seems easier, choose thou still
The upper road.
By brier and bramble hedged on either hand
Often it climbs within a lonely land
Where ‘neath thy stumbling feet sharp stones are strowed.
Yet choose it ever, for beyond it rise
The steadfast peaks that pierce the eternal skies,
They are thy goal; here thy beginning lies,
The upper road.
Comrades may smile, and beckon thee instead,
To take the lower path, so smooth to tread,
Where roses bloom, without a thorn to goad,
A pleasant choice and yet it leads away
From the high mountain tops that front the day.
Turn, pilgrim, turn, and take the wiser way,
The upper road.
On these rough upward paths have climbed the feet
Of all earth’s heroes, all her saints, to meet
Reward and joy, at the sure end bestowed.
Their steps have stumbled, too, their burdens weighed
Heavy as thine; yet forward, undismayed,
They pressed before thee. Choose, nor be afraid,
The upper road.
Poems about Mountains and Clouds
With this collection of poems celebrates the beauty and majesty of mountains and clouds. Each poem is a unique expression of the awe-inspiring power of nature.
1. Mountains in Clouds
by Raj Arumugam
the clouds hang over the mountains
the mist over the trees
and our huts are hidden in the moving fog
that stretches over our seclusion
on a good day when the sun
regains its strength
we see the mountains
and there is clarity in our hearts…
and so are our days spread
like the trees and mountain ranges
over this enduring earth
2. Mountains in the Clouds
Sometimes at night as the sun is setting,
Falling below the hills like an old balloon,
I see them. Mountains in the sky
Ominous mounds of magic or cloud
Could be earth or maybe something more
Locked in a place between day and night
A challenge, beckoning me to climb
To reach the top and look down
But then they’re gone, blown away
By a current in the breeze
A secret agent hiding a top secret world
Perhaps a place where I won’t be as sad
I don’t even know why I’m sad these days
Like a lightbulb went out in my brain
And the repairman or lady is on vacation
Maybe it can’t be repaired at all
Maybe it’s all too implausible
Perhaps asking to be happy is too much
Like my happiness is a mist meant to
blows away like mountains in the clouds
3. The Cloud on the Mountain
by Muhammed Iqbal
Elevation bestows the sky’s nearness to my abode
I am the mountain’s cloud, my skirt sprinkles roses
Now the wilderness, now the rose garden is my abode
City and wilderness are mine, ocean is mine, forest is mine
If I want to return to some valley for the night
The mountain’s verdure is my carpet of velvet
Nature has taught me to be a pearl spreader
To chant the camel song for the camel of the Beloved of Mercy
To be the comforter of the dispirited farmer’s heart
To be the elegance of the assembly of the garden’s trees
I spread out over the face of the earth like the locks
I get arranged and adorned by the breeze’s
I tantalize the expecting eye from a distance
As I pass silently over some habitation
As I approach strolling towards a brook’s bank
I endow the brook with ear rings of whirlpools
I am the hope of the freshly grown field’s verdure
I am the ocean’s offspring, I am nourished by the sun
I gave ocean’s tumult to the mountain spring
I charmed the birds into thrilling chants
I pronounced “Rise” standing by the verdure’s head
I conferred the taste for smile to the rose-bud
By my benevolence farmers’ huts on the mountain side
Are converted into bed chambers of the opulent.
4. Clouds – Valley – Moutain
A thousand mountains from an endless drain,
Across the earth a hundred billion ocean habitats.
Clouds floating through the heavy rain,
A sea of water on a valley flat,
Surrounded by an ancient hill O grande.
A sea of hills and mountains on the grassy,
An endless road across a distant land,
Between the fields of green and hidden valley.
Flying high above the solar storm!
I see the sun above and scatter lights,
The sun and mountains like an ocean warm,
A ray of light beneath the cloudy skies.
Catch an early winter rain or snow!
I walked around a second highest peak,
Across the water like a lava flow,
Landed on the back of stony creek.
5. Alone Looking at the Mountain
by Li Po
All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other –
Only the mountain and I.
6. The Cloud
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet buds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother’s breast,
As she dances about the sun.
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under,
And then again I dissolve it in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder.
I sift the snow on the mountains below,
And their great pines groan aghast;
And all the night ’tis my pillow white,
While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers,
Lightning my pilot sits;
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,
It struggles and howls at fits;
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,
This pilot is guiding me,
Lured by the love of the genii that move
In the depths of the purple sea;
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills,
Over the lakes and the plains,
Wherever he dreams, under mountain or stream,
The Spirit he loves remains;
And I all the while bask in Heaven’s blue smile,
Whilst he is dissolving in rains.
The sanguine Sunrise, with his meteor eyes,
And his burning plumes outspread,
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,
When the morning star shines dead;
As on the jag of a mountain crag,
Which an earthquake rocks and swings,
An eagle alit one moment may sit
In the light of its golden wings.
And when Sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath,
Its ardours of rest and of love,
And the crimson pall of eve may fall
From the depth of Heaven above,
With wings folded I rest, on mine aëry nest,
As still as a brooding dove.
That orbèd maiden with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the Moon,
Glides glimmering o’er my fleece-like floor,
By the midnight breezes strewn;
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear,
May have broken the woof of my tent’s thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and peer;
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,
Like a swarm of golden bees,
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
Till calm the rivers, lakes, and seas,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
Are each paved with the moon and these.
I bind the Sun’s throne with a burning zone,
And the Moon’s with a girdle of pearl;
The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim,
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl.
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,
Over a torrent sea,
Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof,
The mountains its columns be.
The triumphal arch through which I march
With hurricane, fire, and snow,
When the Powers of the air are chained to my chair,
Is the million-coloured bow;
The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove,
While the moist Earth was laughing below.
I am the daughter of Earth and Water,
And the nursling of the Sky;
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
I change, but I cannot die.
For after the rain when with never a stain
The pavilion of Heaven is bare,
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
Build up the blue dome of air,
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again.
7. The Clouds on The Mountains
by Andrew Blakemore
The clouds on the mountains like smoke are descending
And cloaking the sunlight they gather with force,
A storm is approaching with rumbles of thunder
And flashes of lightning that follow their course,
Ever encroaching the slopes are now hidden
They creep down the valley as dark as the night,
As echoes do tremble and rain begins falling
And I face the wrath of its vengeance and spite.
A strong wind is blowing and trees are now bending
As rain lashes down from the coal coloured sky,
Whilst shaking the branches with gusts unrelenting
And stripping their leaves as it races on by,
The drumming of hail that does cover the landscape
And glistens in silver as skies start to clear,
As a shaft of a sunbeam does shine through the blanket
Yet still distant rolls of the thunder I hear.
The clouds on the mountains are moving away now
Revealing the picture, I so longed to see,
So still is the evening so green is the meadow
Now lit by the sunlight as if just for me,
The birds singing sweetly from boughs in the treetops
A whispering breeze brings a joy to the air,
As arching above there’s a rainbow so vivid
That glows on the canvas through clouds of despair.
Poems about Mountains and Hills
Here, readers can explore the different ways in which poets have interpreted and described these wondrous natural wonders.
1. Mont Blanc
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
The everlasting universe of things
Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves,
Now dark—now glittering—now reflecting gloom—
Now lending splendour, where from secret springs
The source of human thought its tribute brings
Of waters—with a sound but half its own,
Such as a feeble brook will oft assume,
In the wild woods, among the mountains lone,
Where waterfalls around it leap forever,
Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river
Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves.
Thus thou, Ravine of Arve—dark, deep Ravine—
Thou many-colour’d, many-voiced vale,
Over whose pines, and crags, and caverns sail
Fast cloud-shadows and sunbeams: awful scene,
Where Power in likeness of the Arve comes down
From the ice-gulfs that gird his secret throne,
Bursting through these dark mountains like the flame
Of lightning through the tempest;—thou dost lie,
Thy giant brood of pines around thee clinging,
Children of elder time, in whose devotion
The chainless winds still come and ever came
To drink their odours, and their mighty swinging
To hear—an old and solemn harmony;
Thine earthly rainbows stretch’d across the sweep
Of the aethereal waterfall, whose veil
Robes some unsculptur’d image; the strange sleep
Which when the voices of the desert fail
Wraps all in its own deep eternity;
Thy caverns echoing to the Arve’s commotion,
A loud, lone sound no other sound can tame;
Thou art pervaded with that ceaseless motion,
Thou art the path of that unresting sound—
Dizzy Ravine! and when I gaze on thee
I seem as in a trance sublime and strange
To muse on my own separate fantasy,
My own, my human mind, which passively
Now renders and receives fast influencings,
Holding an unremitting interchange
With the clear universe of things around;
One legion of wild thoughts, whose wandering wings
Now float above thy darkness, and now rest
Where that or thou art no unbidden guest,
In the still cave of the witch Poesy,
Seeking among the shadows that pass by
Ghosts of all things that are, some shade of thee,
Some phantom, some faint image; till the breast
From which they fled recalls them, thou art there!
Some say that gleams of a remoter world
Visit the soul in sleep, that death is slumber,
And that its shapes the busy thoughts outnumber
Of those who wake and live.—I look on high;
Has some unknown omnipotence unfurl’d
The veil of life and death? or do I lie
In dream, and does the mightier world of sleep
Spread far around and inaccessibly
Its circles? For the very spirit fails,
Driven like a homeless cloud from steep to steep
That vanishes among the viewless gales!
Far, far above, piercing the infinite sky,
Mont Blanc appears—still, snowy, and serene;
Its subject mountains their unearthly forms
Pile around it, ice and rock; broad vales between
Of frozen floods, unfathomable deeps,
Blue as the overhanging heaven, that spread
And wind among the accumulated steeps;
A desert peopled by the storms alone,
Save when the eagle brings some hunter’s bone,
And the wolf tracks her there—how hideously
Its shapes are heap’d around! rude, bare, and high,
Ghastly, and scarr’d, and riven.—Is this the scene
Where the old Earthquake-daemon taught her young
Ruin? Were these their toys? or did a sea
Of fire envelop once this silent snow?
None can reply—all seems eternal now.
The wilderness has a mysterious tongue
Which teaches awful doubt, or faith so mild,
So solemn, so serene, that man may be,
But for such faith, with Nature reconcil’d;
Thou hast a voice, great Mountain, to repeal
Large codes of fraud and woe; not understood
By all, but which the wise, and great, and good
Interpret, or make felt, or deeply feel.
The fields, the lakes, the forests, and the streams,
Ocean, and all the living things that dwell
Within the daedal earth; lightning, and rain,
Earthquake, and fiery flood, and hurricane,
The torpor of the year when feeble dreams
Visit the hidden buds, or dreamless sleep
Holds every future leaf and flower; the bound
With which from that detested trance they leap;
The works and ways of man, their death and birth,
And that of him and all that his may be;
All things that move and breathe with toil and sound
Are born and die; revolve, subside, and swell.
Power dwells apart in its tranquillity,
Remote, serene, and inaccessible:
And this, the naked countenance of earth,
On which I gaze, even these primeval mountains
Teach the adverting mind. The glaciers creep
Like snakes that watch their prey, from their far fountains,
Slow rolling on; there, many a precipice
Frost and the Sun in scorn of mortal power
Have pil’d: dome, pyramid, and pinnacle,
A city of death, distinct with many a tower
And wall impregnable of beaming ice.
Yet not a city, but a flood of ruin
Is there, that from the boundaries of the sky
Rolls its perpetual stream; vast pines are strewing
Its destin’d path, or in the mangled soil
Branchless and shatter’d stand; the rocks, drawn down
From yon remotest waste, have overthrown
The limits of the dead and living world,
Never to be reclaim’d. The dwelling-place
Of insects, beasts, and birds, becomes its spoil;
Their food and their retreat for ever gone,
So much of life and joy is lost. The race
Of man flies far in dread; his work and dwelling
Vanish, like smoke before the tempest’s stream,
And their place is not known. Below, vast caves
Shine in the rushing torrents’ restless gleam,
Which from those secret chasms in tumult welling
Meet in the vale, and one majestic River,
The breath and blood of distant lands, for ever
Rolls its loud waters to the ocean-waves,
Breathes its swift vapours to the circling air.
Mont Blanc yet gleams on high:—the power is there,
The still and solemn power of many sights,
And many sounds, and much of life and death.
In the calm darkness of the moonless nights,
In the lone glare of day, the snows descend
Upon that Mountain; none beholds them there,
Nor when the flakes burn in the sinking sun,
Or the star-beams dart through them. Winds contend
Silently there, and heap the snow with breath
Rapid and strong, but silently! Its home
The voiceless lightning in these solitudes
Keeps innocently, and like vapour broods
Over the snow. The secret Strength of things
Which governs thought, and to the infinite dome
Of Heaven is as a law, inhabits thee!
And what were thou, and earth, and stars, and sea,
If to the human mind’s imaginings
Silence and solitude were vacancy?
2. Loud Without the Wind Was Roaring
by Emily Brontë
Loud without the wind was roaring
Through th’autumnal sky;
Drenching wet, the cold rain pouring,
Spoke of winter nigh.
All too like that dreary eve,
Did my exiled spirit grieve.
Grieved at first, but grieved not long,
Sweet—how softly sweet!—it came;
Wild words of an ancient song,
Undefined, without a name.
“It was spring, and the skylark was singing:”
Those words they awakened a spell;
They unlocked a deep fountain, whose springing,
Nor absence, nor distance can quell.
In the gloom of a cloudy November
They uttered the music of May ;
They kindled the perishing ember
Into fervour that could not decay.
Awaken, o’er all my dear moorland,
West-wind, in thy glory and pride!
Oh! call me from valley and lowland,
To walk by the hill-torrent’s side!
It is swelled with the first snowy weather;
The rocks they are icy and hoar,
And sullenly waves the long heather,
And the fern leaves are sunny no more.
There are no yellow stars on the mountain
The bluebells have long died away
From the brink of the moss-bedded fountain—
From the side of the wintry brae.
But lovelier than corn-fields all waving
In emerald, and vermeil, and gold,
Are the heights where the north-wind is raving,
And the crags where I wandered of old.
It was morning: the bright sun was beaming;
How sweetly it brought back to me
The time when nor labour nor dreaming
Broke the sleep of the happy and free!
But blithely we rose as the dawn-heaven
Was melting to amber and blue,
And swift were the wings to our feet given,
As we traversed the meadows of dew.
For the moors! For the moors, where the short grass
Like velvet beneath us should lie!
For the moors! For the moors, where each high pass
Rose sunny against the clear sky!
For the moors, where the linnet was trilling
Its song on the old granite stone;
Where the lark, the wild sky-lark, was filling
Every breast with delight like its own!
What language can utter the feeling
Which rose, when in exile afar,
On the brow of a lonely hill kneeling,
I saw the brown heath growing there?
It was scattered and stunted, and told me
That soon even that would be gone:
It whispered, “The grim walls enfold me,
I have bloomed in my last summer’s sun.”
But not the loved music, whose waking
Makes the soul of the Swiss die away,
Has a spell more adored and heartbreaking
Than, for me, in that blighted heath lay.
The spirit which bent ’neath its power,
How it longed—how it burned to be free!
If I could have wept in that hour,
Those tears had been heaven to me.
Well—well; the sad minutes are moving,
Though loaded with trouble and pain;
And some time the loved and the loving
Shall meet on the mountains again!
3. The First Snow
These bare hills whisper
And dry brown autumn oak leaves
Know the snowflakes’ hush
4. Hymn Before Sun-Rise, in the Vale of Chamouni
by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star
In his steep course? So long he seems to pause
On thy bald awful head, O sovran BLANC,
The Arve and Arveiron at thy base
Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful Form!
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines,
How silently! Around thee and above
Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black,
An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it,
As with a wedge! But when I look again,
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity!
O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee,
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,
Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer
I worshipped the Invisible alone.
Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,
So sweet, we know not we are listening to it,
Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my Thought,
Yea, with my Life and Life’s own secret joy:
Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused,
Into the mighty vision passing—there
As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven!
Awake, my soul! not only passive praise
Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears,
Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake,
Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn.
Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the Vale!
O struggling with the darkness all the night,
And visited all night by troops of stars,
Or when they climb the sky or when they sink:
Companion of the morning-star at dawn,
Thyself Earth’s rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald: wake, O wake, and utter praise!
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in Earth?
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light?
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?
And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad!
Who called you forth from night and utter death,
From dark and icy caverns called you forth,
Down those precipitous, black, jagg
5. Winter Is on It’s Way
by Eileen Marie
All the trees are almost barren
Now I can see farther across the hills
Heavy knit sweaters folks are wearing
Frost each morning sits on my windowsills
Gathering wood for my old iron stove
Hanging bird feeders in a nearby grove
Filling my cup with hot spiced tea
I’ll call on an old friend to share it with me
6. Cabbage Hill
by Milady Mar
Many years ago, had my first run in
or should I say, run down, with Cabbage Hill
gotta be honest, tell you a secret
truly the biggest most unhinging thrill
only been trucking for about five years
loved shifting up and down every mountain
shocked when noticed the outlandish downgrade
quickly dropped gears thereby thwarting the gain
thankful my husband was my team driver
his expertise and calmness were a balm
what a ride, long and unforgiving too
don’t remember if had a sweaty palm
life’s an adventure, teeming with delight
each new road serves you an exciting ride
this ride, gotta love the sound of the Jake
gear down, keep your speed slow, Jake it and glide
Poems about Mountains and Rivers
This collection of poems on mountains and rivers explores the beauty of the natural world. These poems focus on mountains and rivers as two of nature’s most majestic creations.
1. Rivers and Mountains
by John Ashbery
On the secret map the assassins
Cloistered, the Moon River was marked
Near the eighteen peaks and the city
Of humiliation and defeat—wan ending
Of the trail among dry, papery leaves
Gray-brown quills like thoughts
In the melodious but vast mass of today’s
Writing through fields and swamps
Marked, on the map, with little bunches of weeds.
Certainly squirrels lived in the woods
But devastation and dull sleep still
Hung over the land, quelled
The rioters turned out of sleep in the peace of prisons
Singing on marble factory walls
Deaf consolation of minor tunes that pack
The air with heavy invisible rods
Pent in some sand valley from
Which only quiet walking ever instructs.
The bird flew over and
Sat—there was nothing else to do.
Do not mistake its silence for pride or strength
Or the waterfall for a harbor
Full of light boats that is there
Performing for thousands of people
In clothes some with places to go
Or games. Sometimes over the pillar
Of square stones its impact
Makes a light print.
So going around cities
To get to other places you found
It all on paper but the land
Was made of paper processed
To look like ferns, mud or other
Whose sea unrolled its magic
Distances and then rolled them up
Its secret was only a pocket
After all but some corners are darker
Than these moonless nights spent as on a raft
In the seclusion of a melody heard
As though through trees
And you can never ignite their touch
Long but there were homes
Flung far out near the asperities
Of a sharp, rocky pinnacle
And other collective places
Shadows of vineyards whose wine
Tasted of the forest floor
Fisheries and oyster beds
Tides under the pole
Seminaries of instruction, public
Places for electric light
And the major tax assessment area
Wrinkled on the plan
Of election to public office
Sixty-two years old bath and breakfast
The formal traffic, shadows
To make it not worth joining
After the ox had pulled away the cart.
Your plan was to separate the enemy into two groups
With the razor-edged mountains between.
It worked well on paper
But their camp had grown
To be the mountains and the map
Carefully peeled away and not torn
Was the light, a tender but tough bark
On everything. Fortunately the war was solved
In another way by isolating the two sections
Of the enemy’s navy so that the mainland
Warded away the big floating ships.
Light bounced off the ends
Of the small gray waves to tell
Them in the observatory
About the great drama that was being won
To turn off the machinery
And quietly move among the rustic landscape
Scooping snow off the mountains rinsing
The coarser ones that love had
Slowly risen in the night to overflow
Wetting pillow and petal
Determined to place the letter
On the unassassinated president’s desk
So that a stamp could reproduce all this
In detail, down to the last autumn leaf
And the affliction of June ride
Slowly out into the sun-blackened landscape.
2. Mountains and Rivers
by Mehta Hasmukh Amathaal
Not late here
Saturday,15th June 2019
No, no, and no
the world can’t go
nature belongs to us
and we have full trust
it is never late
how can we seal our fate?
if we stop it today
we shall have the happiness to stay
it is the heaven
and that has been given
for us to live
and let others believe
and their petals zoom
we have some room
to protect it with wisdom
if we find
nature may remain kind
nothing to extinct
but best to instruct
holy land belongs
and we too also long
resolve to go no wrong
let us have a natural song
let us revive
for all us to live
with no more pain to relive
3. A Pool in the Plains, Not a Mountain River
by K Balachandran
Lust, when it grips us, is a sudden swell,
occasional in a mountain river flowing downhill,
from the high ranges of inflamed emotions.
The ecstatic roar while the discharge is easily forgotten,
the river runs dry soon enough, when the torrents abruptly stop,
as the winds chase away the clouds, all of a sudden.
But those pools, your blue, beautiful eyes, clearly defy,
rules of seasons, brims invariably with love pure, all along,
and yes, it gets replenished, from the deep well springs
of your heart, it remains full whether I am far or near.
4. To the Apennines
by William Cullen Bryant
Your peaks are beautiful, ye Apennines!
In the soft light of these serenest skies;
From the broad highland region, black with pines,
Fair as the hills of Paradise they rise,
Bathed in the tint Peruvian slaves behold
In rosy flushes on the virgin gold.
There, rooted to the aerial shelves that wear
The glory of a brighter world, might spring
Sweet flowers of heaven to scent the unbreathed air,
And heaven’s fleet messengers might rest the wing,
To view the fair earth in its summer sleep,
Silent, and cradled by the glimmering deep.
Below you lie men’s sepulchres, the old
Etrurian tombs, the graves of yesterday;
The herd’s white bones lie mixed with human mould—
Yet up the radiant steeps that I survey
Death never climbed, nor life’s soft breath, with pain,
Was yielded to the elements again.
Ages of war have filled these plains with fear;
How oft the hind has started at the clash
Of spears, and yell of meeting armies here,
Or seen the lightning of the battle flash
From clouds, that rising with the thunder’s sound,
Hung like an earth-born tempest o’er the ground.
Ah me! what armed nations—Asian horde,
And Lybian host—the Scythian and the Gaul,
Have swept your base and through your passes poured,
Like ocean-tides uprising at the call
Of tyrant winds—against your rocky side
The bloody billows dashed, and howled, and died.
How crashed the towers before beleaguering foes,
Sacked cities smoked and realms were rent in twain;
And commonwealths against their rivals rose,
Trode out their lives and earned the curse of Cain!
While in the noiseless air and light that flowed
Round your far brows, eternal Peace abode.
Here pealed the impious hymn, and altar flames
Rose to false gods, a dream-begotten throng,
Jove, Bacchus, Pan, and earlier, fouler names;
While, as the unheeding ages passed along,
Ye, from your station in the middle skies,
Proclaimed the essential Goodness, strong and wise.
In you the heart that sighs for freedom seeks
Her image; there the winds no barrier know,
Clouds come and rest and leave your fairy peaks;
While even the immaterial Mind, below,
And Thought, her winged offspring, chained by power,
Pine silently for the redeeming hour.
5. To the Mountain Stream
by Ruby Archer
High on the mountain top
The sun and snow
Thou art their child,
And free hast fled
To far-off worlds below
With impulse wild.
Snow-pure, yet vital as the sun
Thy heart is.
Thou carolest the dream,
The fond, eternal dream
Of Mother Nature, ever-loving one.
Thou art so pulsing near
The earth and stone,
Thy listening may hear
The thrilling tone
Of all creation’s under-song.
Sing loud, sing long
The cadence to mine ear—
I love it!
The mountain spirits live
And move in joy
In thy light motion.
The wild flowers give
Their delicate, pure limbs
Unto thy spray to lave.
Thy pool that brims
Upon the rocks—
Great castles of the storm-kings—
Thy pretty shocks
In rainbow banners bright.
Now mingled day and night
Of shadow-hearted canon
A moment holds thee
And roughly folds thee
In arms of stone.
On, swift, impetuous,
Out of the narrow channel
Unto the broad sun-sea,
Heedless of weeping
In the mosses far behind.
O Bright, O Pure, O Free!
Brother of Cloud and Wind!
Thou fling’st a jeweled gauntlet
To the aspen and the pine.
Look how the boulders kneel
To quaff thy brightness.
Pity them—ne’er to feel
Thy wayward lightness.
Like a young deer
Thy springing leap
Now broadening languorously
Thy lucent breast
Gives mirror to a flight of clouds
And pallid daylight moon.
A lightsome bridge
From ridge to ridge
Bounds playfully above thee,
And pauses there entranced
Perforce to love thee.
O Mountain Stream,
Fleet as a dream,
Wild as a wish all unsubdued,—
Thy power to sing
To find release
For impulse in thee.
Alone doth bring
What long I sought—
A conquering sense of peace!
6. To a Mountain Stream
by Kate Slaughter McKinney
Glad as childish laughter
From a childish throng,
Sweet as bird voice after
Daybreak is your song.
Racing down the mountain
On your shining feet,
Waltzing at the fountain
To its love song sweet.
On and on you travel,
Leaving me behind,
Like a silken ravel
With the weeds you wind.
Laughing at distresses;
Braving battles, too;
Who your trouble guesses,
And your sorrow—who?
Tell me as you hurry
Through the stubble field,
Why not stop to worry—
But no frown’s revealed.
Sometime you must weary
Of this constant strife;
When the clouds are dreary,
Tire you not of life?
Of the dead leaves drifted
On your saddened face,
And the snowflakes sifted
From the cloudland place?
Yet you ne’er repineth,
But alike content
With the sun that shineth,
And the rainstorm sent.
Teach me half the beauty
That your heart must know,
And through fields of duty
Like you, will I go.
7. Rainbow on the Mountain
by Ruby Archer
See the Sky has lent her jewel
To the Mountain for an hour
Has forgotten to be cruel
In a kind caprice of power
And the dusky bosom rounding
Wears the opals with an air
And a fine content abounding
In the sense of looking fair.
Now the Sky demands her crescent—
Brightest bauble of her store;
Slow it fadeth, evanescent,
And the Mountain smiles no more.
Poems about Mountains and Sea
From the awe-inspiring grandeur of the mountains to the tranquil depths of the ocean, these poems about mountains and sea capture the majesty of the natural world.
1. Mountains and the Sea
by George Barlow
We strive together the far heights to reach.
The longing for the mountains and the sea
Doth ever, sweetheart, overshadow thee;
Ever their music ringeth through my speech.
Ours is the rapture of the lonely beach
When the white breakers surge tumultuously,
And ours the glory of the pine-clad lea;
The mountains and the ocean chant to each.
Thou art the mountain-air: I am the sea:
Thou bringest me the breath of all thy pines
And all thy blossoms’ beauty and their glee
And all the glory of fern-draped inclines
And all thy white-plumed streams: — I give to thee
My sea-song, born where the grey water shines.
2. Where the Mountains Meet The Sea
by Dee Daffodil
Yes, I know,
It was inevitable.
We love each other,
We really, must soon go.
So, we’ll part our ways,
And lives our lives alone.
You feel at ease on a mountain top,
But I prefer a sandy beach.
You like the mountain air,
I prefer a salty breeze.
And so it is, that you must go,
Where tall trees grow and rivers flow.
And I in turn, will go my way,
Where seagulls soar over a sunlit bay.
Perhaps, someday, we’ll meet again,
And talk of happy times.
Where salty breezes sway tall trees…
And the mountains meet the sea.
3. Where the Mountains Meet the Sea
by Jon Smith
strolling in and out of dreams.
Fulfill inner peace,
become ambitions yearned,
where the mountains meet the sea.
recognize well-worn paths,
face recurrent misdeeds.
Step out of shadow and warm thy conscience,
where the mountains meet the sea.
self-indulgent tokens from a spirit seeking to be.
Grant visualizations freedom;
allowance to take form,
where the mountains meet the sea.
4. Ocean and Mountain
You should’ve left me where you found me.
“Why do you love mountains?”
“They’re steady and predictable.”
I’m yours, now.
“Why do you love the ocean?”
“It’s unsteady and unpredictable.”
You built a mountain in my heart.
I arose oceans in your spirit.
5. My Kinda Happy Place
by Rashmi Kaushik
My happy place can be the beaches,
Or they can be the mountains…
I love flying in the air,
Though I prefer travelling by trains…
I climbed up at the top of hills with care,
Shouted my name courageously but a little scared…
I realised that an ocean can have a story to share,
I lost myself in the mesmerising sphere…
Butterfly fish, Kissing fish,
I saw Blue tang and Clown fish,
Clouds of tiny water droplets were forming,
Long pine trees were attention holding…
I also felt like a mermaid in water,
Gently caressing my brown hair,
The sky was exceptionally blue that day,
Mountains absorbed my echoes on the way…
If in depression reach the mountains,
Go to beaches if the heart has stains…
My ears could hear that waves were hugging the shore,
My favourite places of happiness for sure…
6. The Mountain and the Sea
by Narya and Pontifex
‘Twas a time when the world was younger
That two hearts filled with love
Crossed the border of land and water
Sought the power of heaven above
Under wraith-wrought boughs and shining elms
green and golden under fervent Sun
Where daffodils hoisted their pallid helms
I watched you dance on the waves, and run
…Where once by shore I saw you dance..
…in a holy girdle of gleeful trance..
Thy love claimed my soul, dear Pan
Though I’m caged within water and wave
I embrace the sun and land
Dry earth, my heart shall brave
…music from your flute I hear
…fills me with your warmth my dear
Dear maiden of waters my queen of seas
thou hast bewitched me with just one kiss
For you I’ll leave the greenest trees
To live within the deep in bliss
Beloved faun, so sweet and true
I’ve found no other love like yours
it burns me so, I ache for you
if only I can leave these shores
To swim below
my feet for fins
our love would grow
and thrive within
To walk and run
and wander high
Beneath the sun
and under sky
Ah, come then! Let me flee with you!
From familiar lands to dusk-lit dales
Or whither-so-ever thy heart would least rue
The departure from these glittering vales!
Oh woe! For I am trapped by sea!
Must this truly be my destiny?
Will no one hear my fervent prayer?
Will no one save me from despair?
O! shining maiden, mermaid queen!
Is this what keeps you trapped in dream?
Then weep not now, for aid is near
For Áveron, my king, shall hear!
Then flitting by and by he flew
and as he sped a wind there blew
Lamenting sang those running skies
but holy minstrels in disguise
And Áveron, the Faëry-king
in the midst of oaken ring
Heard his pupil calling loud
and rising, he began to sing
Lo, what woe betides my son,
whose ember heart is never dun?
A sorrow in his singing is
and speed upon his fiery run!
Oh Faëry-king with golden crown
On bended knees I pray to thee
for in my search a love I found
But she’s a maiden of the sea
Then by his side his wife doth rise
the Faëry-queen, Anathilin,
Clad in blue and em’rald guise;
her eyes a magic dances in
Throngs of maidens, gems and pearls
you chase, my son, with boyish glee
What change of heart is this in ye
that lets your heart tip, spin and whirl?
Ah, see, no earthly bride is she!
a gleaming maid with tresses bright
A fairy, nay a god I see!
while watching her all bathed in light
And strange it is, I know it not
this stillness in my blazing core
When once my soul burned rash and hot
now seeing her I fool no more
A cool and dreamy thing is this
that calms me and my thoughtless flame
And O! for just one fleeting kiss
I’d fly no more, thenceforth be tame!
If only time would let us be
longer than the shores allow
With her I’ll spend life happily
and faithful love, my heart shall vow
A thought, I have, for you, my son
but great woe it brings to me
A spell there is, if cast by night
Shall summon guardians of the Sea
Then Pan was puzzled, wondering why
her mother thus would gently cry
Then lightened, he foresaw his doom
and glee he felt, with sadness nigh
From these no doubt you would but learn
an art of magick or craftmanship
With this you need no longer yearn
for seas; for deftly could you leave earth’s lip
7. Never Shall Ye Walk Again
On mountain sides or grassy plains
What she takes in her watery pen
unless in death, can’t be reclaimed
Within the sea, a song she sung
Of love for faun who lives on land
he runs in freedom through covered hills
loved by the wind, kissed by the sun
Her cries were heard, and thus he came
the Guardian of the seas, untame
He chided her, ‘You foolish child!
Is it your wish to be exiled?’
Forgive me for this wild desire
to leave your great and vast empire
I wish not for your angered face
Just his love and warm embrace
Is there no prince fit for your love
That you should look for one above?
Within the seven seas you’ll find
a worthy heart with love divine
There is no other love for me
my heart no longer wants the sea
Where sun and air meet earth and sky
Is where I want to live…and die
If, today, I grant ye this
And change your fins to feet
Echanted spell you can’t unwish
speak now, or else, retreat
‘Tis my wish, to leave the sea
‘Tis my wish for eternity
‘Tis my wish, I do declare
‘Tis my wish, my heart thus swear
And so the Guardian set her free
While Averon gave Pan his plea.
To the Ocean he swam with glee
to the Mountains she ran merrily
‘My love, My love, I’m free!’ She cried
and searched the mountain tops till night
‘Your pan is gone,” They said to her
He lives now as a water-dweller
On the shore she found him there
Their faces filled with great despair
For though the gods bestowed their gift
their wishes sent them both adrift
And so again they sat and wait
and endure this twist of fate
For neither sea nor land can part
a love so pure and a faithful heart
Poems about Mountains That Rhyme
Explore the beauty and majesty of mountains in this collection of mountain poems that rhyme. From the highest peak to the tiniest hill, discover the wonder of the natural world.
1. The Alps at Daybreak
by Samuel Rogers
The sunbeam streak the azure skies,
And line with light the mountain’s brow:
With hounds and horns the hunters rise,
And chase the roebuck through the snow.
From rock to rock, with giant bound,
High on their iron poles they pass;
Mute, lest the air, convulsed by sound,
Rend from above a frozen mass.
The goats wind slow their wonted way,
Up craggy steeps and ridges rude;
Marked by the wild wolf for his prey,
From desert cave or hanging wood.
And while the torrent thunders loud,
And as the echoing cliffs reply,
The huts peep o’er the morning-cloud,
Perched, like an eagle’s nest, on high.
2. The Highlands
by Madison Julius Cawein
Here, from the heights, among the rocks and pines,
The sea and shore seem some tremendous page
Of some vast book, great with our heritage,
Breathing the splendor of majestic lines.
Yonder the dunes speak silver; yonder shines
The ocean’s sapphire word; there, gray with age,
The granite writes its lesson, strong and sage;
And there the surf its rhythmic passage signs.
The winds, that sweep the page, that interlude
Its majesty with music; and the tides,
That roll their thunder in, that period
Its mighty rhetoric, deep and dream-imbued,
Are what it seems to say, of what abides,
Of what’s eternal and of what is God.
3. A Mountain Spring
by Henry Kendall
Peace hath an altar there. The sounding feet
Of thunder and the wildering wings of rain
Against fire-rifted summits flash and beat,
And through grey upper gorges swoop and strain;
But round that hallowed mountain-spring remain,
Year after year, the days of tender heat,
And gracious nights, whose lips with flowers are sweet,
And filtered lights, and lutes of soft refrain.
A still, bright pool. To men I may not tell
The secret that its heart of water knows,
The story of a loved and lost repose;
Yet this I say to cliff and close-leaved dell:
A fitful spirit haunts yon limpid well,
Whose likeness is the faithless face of Rose.
4. The Sonnet of the Mountain
by Mellin De Saint-Gelais
When from afar these mountain tops I view,
I do but mete mine own distress thereby:
High is their head, and my desire is high;
Firm is their foot, my faith is certain too.
E’en as the winds about their summits blue,
From me too breaks betimes the wistful sigh;
And as from them the brooks and streamlets hie,
So from mine eyes the tears run down anew.
A thousand flocks upon them feed and stray;
As many loves within me see the day,
And all my heart for pasture ground divide.
No fruit have they, my lot as fruitless is;
And ’twixt us now nought diverse is but this—
In them the snows, in me the fires abide.
5. The Distant Mountain-Range
by Lucy Larcom
They beckon from their sunset domes afar,
Light’s royal priesthood, the eternal hills:
Though born of earth, robed of the sky they are;
And the anointing radiance heaven distils
On their high brows, the air with glory fills.
The portals of the west are opened wide;
And lifted up, absolved from earthly ills,
All thoughts, a reverent throng, to worship glide.
The hills interpret heavenly mysteries,
The mysteries of Light, —an open book
Of Revelation: see, its leaves unfold
With crimson borderings, and lines of gold!
Where the rapt reader, though soul-deep his look,
Dreams of a glory deeper than he sees.
6. Mountain Song
by Harriet Monroe
I have not where to lay my head:
Upon my breast no child shall lie;
For me no marriage feast is spread:
I walk alone under the sky.
My staff and scrip I cast away—
Light-burdened to the mountain height!
Climbing the rocky steep by day,
Kindling my fire against the night.
The bitter hail shall flower the peak,
The icy wind shall dry my tears.
Strong shall I be, who am but weak,
When bright Orion spears my fears.
Under the horned moon I shall rise
Up-swinging on the scarf of dawn.
The sun, searching with level eyes,
Shall take my hand and lead me on.
Wide flaming pinions veil the West—
Ah, shall I find? and shall I know?
My feet are bound upon the Quest—
Over the Great Divide I go.
7. Over the Mountains
by George Pope Morris
Some spirit wafts our mountain lay–
Hili ho! boys, hili ho!
To distant groves and glens away!
Hili ho! boys, hili ho!
E’en so the tide of empire flows–
Ho! boys, hili ho!
Rejoicing as it westward goes!
Ho! boys, hili ho!
To refresh our weary way
Gush the crystal fountains,
As a pilgrim band we stray
Cheerly o’er the mountains.
The woodland rings with song and shout!
Hili ho! boys, hili ho!
As though a fairy hunt were out!
Hili ho! boys, hili ho!
E’en so the voice of woman cheers–
Ho! boys, hili ho!
The hearts of hardy mountaineers!
Ho! boys, hili ho!
Like the glow of northern skies
Mirrored in the fountains,
Beams the love-light of fond eyes,
As we cross the mountains.
8. The Mountain In Labour
by Jean De La Fontaine
A mountain was in travail pang;
The country with her clamour rang.
Out ran the people all, to see,
Supposing that the birth would be
A city, or at least a house.
It was a mouse!
In thinking of this fable,
Of story feign’d and false,
But meaning veritable,
My mind the image calls
Of one who writes, “The war I sing
Which Titans waged against the Thunder-king.”
As on the sounding verses ring,
What will be brought to birth?
9. Excerpt From Franconia From the Pemigewasset
by John Greenleaf Whittier
Once more, O Mountains of the North, unveil
Your brows, and lay your cloudy mantles by!
And once more, ere the eyes that seek ye fail,
Uplift against the blue walls of the sky
Your mighty shapes, and let the sunshine weave
Its golden net-work in your belting woods,
Smile down in rainbows from your falling floods,
And on your kingly brows at morn and eve
Set crowns of fire! So shall my soul receive
Haply the secret of your calm and strength,
Your unforgotten beauty interfuse
My common life, your glorious shapes and hues
And sun-dropped splendors at my bidding come,
Loom vast through dreams, and stretch in billowy length
From the sea-level of my lowland home!
10. Nature’s Organ-Music in the Mountains
by Professor John Wilson
Go up among the mountains, when the storm
Of midnight howls, but go in that wild mood,
When the soul loves tumultuous solitude,
And through the haunted air, each giant form
Of swinging pine, black rock, or ghostly cloud,
That veils some fearful cataract tumbling loud,
Seems to thy breathless heart with life imbued.
’Mid those gaunt, shapeless things thou art alone!
The mind exists, thinks, trembles through the ear,
The memory of the human world is gone,
And time and space seem living only here.
O, worship thou the visions then made known,
While sable glooms round Nature’s temple roll,
And her dread anthem peals into thy soul!
The joy of being surrounded by majestic mountains is something that can never be replaced.
They are a source of inspiration, adventure and beauty. Poems about mountains capture the essence of these beautiful wonders of nature.
They speak of their grandeur, strength and power, and remind us of the importance of having a connection with the natural world.
We hope that this collection mountain poems have been a source of awe and joy for you. We invite you to share your own experiences with mountains and your favorite poems in the comments below.