Poems (Procter)/Over the Mountain

by Adelaide Anne Procter

OVER THE MOUNTAIN.

IKE dreary prison walls
 The stern, gray mountains rise,
Until their topmost crags
 Touch the far gloomy skies:
One steep and narrow path
 Winds up the mountain's crest,
And from our valley leads
 Out to the golden West.

I dwell here in content,
 Thankful for tranquil days;
And yet my eyes grow dim,
 As still I gaze and gaze
Upon that mountain pass,
 That leads—or so it seems—
To some far happy land,
 Known in a world of dreams.

And as I watch that path
 Over the distant hill,
A foolish longing comes
 My heart and soul to fill,
A painful, strange desire
 To break some weary bond;
A vague unuttered wish
 For what might lie beyond!

In that far world unknown,
 Over that distant hill,
May dwell the loved and lost,
 Lost—yet belovèd still;
I have a yearning hope,
 Half longing, and half pain,
That by that mountain pass
 They may return again.

Space may keep friends apart,
 Death has a mighty thrall;
There is another gulf
 Harder to cross than all;
Yet watching that far road,
 My heart beats full and fast:
If they should come once more,
 If they should come at last!

See, down the mountain side
 The silver vapors creep;
They hide the rocky cliffs,
 They hide the craggy steep,
They hide the narrow path
 That comes across the hill:—
O foolish longing, cease,
 O beating Heart, be still!