Celia Thaxter

Enthralled

LIKE huge waves, petrified, against the sky,
    The solemn hills are heaved; by shadow kissed,
Or softly touched by delicate light they lie
    Melting in sapphire and in amethyst.
 
The thronging mountains, crowding all the scene,
    Are like the long swell of an angry sea,
Tremendous surging tumult that has been
    Smitten to awful silence suddenly.
 
The nearer slopes with autumn glory blaze,
    Garnet and ruby, topaz, amber, gold;
Up through the quiet air the thin smoke strays
    From many a lonely homestead, brown and old.
 
The scattered cattle graze in pastures bare,
    The brooks sing unconcerned beside the way,
Belated crickets chirp, while still and fair
    Dies into sunset peace the golden day.
 
And toward the valley, where the little town
    Beckons with twinkling lights, that gleam below
Like bright and friendly eyes, we loiter down
    And find our shelter and our fireside glow.
 
But while the gay hours pass with laugh and jest,
    And all is radiant warmth and joy once more,
My captured thought must wander out in quest
    Of that vast mountain picture, o’er and o’er;
 
Where underneath the black and star-sown arch
    Earth’s ancient trouble speaks eternally;
And I must watch those mighty outlines march
    In silence, motionless, with none to see;
 
While from the north the night-wind sighing sweeps,
    And, sharp against the crystal sky relieved,
The tumult of forgotten ages sleeps
    Where like huge waves the solemn hills are heaved.
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