The Mountain Road

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.

Enid Derham

Enid Derham was an Australian poet and academic born on March 24, 1882. She is best known for her lyric poetry and scholarly work in literature. Derham was also a lecturer at the University of Melbourne, where she influenced many students with her deep understanding of poetry and literature. Her poetry often explored themes such as nature, love, and mythology. She passed away on November 13, 1941.

Enid Derham

The Awakening

Enid Derham, Simple Poetry

O City, Look the Eastward Way

Enid Derham, Simple Poetry

A Ballade of Home

Enid Derham, Simple Poetry

English

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An Old Bush Road

Dear old road, wheel-worn and broken,
Winding through the forest green,
Barred with shadows and with sunshine,
Misty vistas drawn between.
Grim, scarred bluegums ranged austerely,
Lifting blackened columns each
To the large, fair fields of azure,
Stretching ever out of reach.

See the hardy bracken growing
Round the fallen limbs of trees;
And the sharp reeds from the marshes,
Washed across the flooded leas;
And the olive rushes, leaning
All their pointed spears to cast
Slender shadows on the roadway,
While the faint, slow wind creeps past.

Ancient ruts grown round with grasses,
Soft old hollows filled with rain;
Rough, gnarled roots all twisting queerly,
Dark with many a weather-stain.
Lichens moist upon the fences,
Twiners ...

Jennings Carmichael

To the Hills!

'T is eight miles out and eight miles in,
    Just at the break of morn.
'T is ice without and flame within,
    To gain a kiss at dawn!

Far, where the Lilac Hills arise
    Soft from the misty plain,
A lone enchanted hollow lies
    Where I at last drew rein.

Midwinter grips this lonely land,
    This stony, treeless waste,
Where East, due East, across the sand,
    We fly in fevered haste.

Pull up! the East will soon be red,
    The wild duck westward fly,
And make above my anxious head,
    Triangles in the sky.

Like wind we go; we both are still
    So young; all thanks to Fate!
(It cuts like knives, this air so chill,)
    Dear God! if I am late!

Behind us, wrapped in mist and sleep
    The Ruined Cit...

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson

The Hills.

Behind my father's cottage lies
    A gentle grassy height
Up which I often ran--to gaze
    Back with a wondering sight,
For then the chimneys I thought high
    Were down below me quite!

All round, where'er I turned mine eyes,
    Huge hills closed up the view;
The town 'mid their converging roots
    Was clasped by rivers two;
From, one range to another sprang
    The sky's great vault of blue.

It was a joy to climb their sides,
    And in the heather lie!
A joy to look at vantage down
    On the castle grim and high!
Blue streams below, white clouds above,
    In silent earth and sky!

And now, where'er my feet may roam,
    At sight of stranger hill
A new sense of the old delight
    Springs in my bosom still,

George MacDonald

Song Of The Road

I am a Road; a good road, fair and smooth and broad;
    And I link with my beautiful tether
    Town and Country together,
Like a ribbon rolled on the earth, from the reel of God.
    Oh, great the life of a Road!

I am a Road; a long road, leading on and on;
    And I cry to the world to follow,
    Past meadow and hill and hollow,
Through desolate night, to the open gates of dawn.
    Oh, bold the life of a Road!

I am a Road; a kind road, shaped by strong hands.
    I make strange cities neighbours;
    The poor grow rich with my labours,
And beauty and comfort follow me through the lands.
    Oh, glad the life of a Road!

I am a Road; a wise road, knowing all men's ways;
    And I know how each heart reaches
    For the things dear Nat...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Enchanted Hill

From height of noon, remote and still,
The sun shines on the empty hill.
No mist, no wind, above, below;
No living thing strays to and fro.
No bird replies to bird on high,
Cleaving the skies with echoing cry.
Like dreaming water, green and wan,
Glassing the snow of mantling swan,
Like a clear jewel encharactered
With secret symbol of line and word,
Asheen, unruffled, slumbrous, still,
The sunlight streams on the empty hill.

But soon as Night's dark shadows ride
Across its shrouded Eastern side,
When at her kindling, clear and full,
Star beyond star stands visible;
Then course pale phantoms, fleet-foot deer
Lap of its waters icy-clear;
Mounts the large moon, and pours her beams
On bright-fish-flashing, singing streams;
Voices re-echo;...

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The Lonely Road

We used to fear the lonely road
That twisted round the hill;
It dipped down to the river-way,
And passed the haunted mill,
And then crept on, until it reached
The churchyard, green and still.

No pipers ever took that road,
No gipsies, brown and gay;
No shepherds with their gentle flocks,
No loads of scented hay;
No market-waggons jingled by
On any Saturday.

The dog-wood there flung wide its stars,
In April, silvery sweet;
The squirrels crossed that path all day
On tiny flying feet;
The wild, brown rabbits knew each turn,
Each shadowy safe retreat.

And there the golden-belted bee
Sang his sweet summer song,
The crickets chirped there to the moon
With steady note and strong;
Till cold and silence wrapped them round...

Virna Sheard