Poetry Archives

One summer time, with love imbued,
To climb the mount, explore the wood,
  Or rove from pole to pole,
Upon Monadnock’s brow I stood—
  A lone, adventurous soul.

Beyond the Bay State border-line
A sweeping vista, grand and fine,
  Embraced the Berkshire hills;
Embosomed hamlets, clumps of pine,
  And country domiciles.

Afar, Mount Tom, in verdantique,
And Holyoke, twin companion peak,
  Appeared gigantic cones;
The burning sunlight scorched my cheek,
  And seemed to melt the stones.

Beneath a gnarled and twisted root
I loosed a pebble with my foot
  That leaped the precipice,
And like an arrow seemed to shoot
  Adown the deep abyss.

Beside the base that solstice day
A city chap who chanced to stray
  Was shooting somewhat, too;
Who, when the nugget sped that way,
  His firelock quickly drew.

While right and left he sought the quail,
Or the timid hare that crossed his trail,
  Rang out a wild “Ha! ha!”
That might have turned the visage pale
  Of a red-skinned Chippewa.

The game was his—for it made him quail;
He flung his gun and fled the vale,
  The mountain-dwellers say,
As though pursued by a comet’s tail—
  And disappeared for aye.