The fog has risen from the sea and crowned
The dark, untrodden summits of the coast,
Where roams a voice, in canyons uttermost,
From midnight waters vibrant and profound.
High on each granite altar dies the sound,
Deep as the trampling of an armored host,
Lone as the lamentation of a ghost,
Sad as the diapason of the drowned.
The dark, untrodden summits of the coast,
Where roams a voice, in canyons uttermost,
From midnight waters vibrant and profound.
High on each granite altar dies the sound,
Deep as the trampling of an armored host,
Lone as the lamentation of a ghost,
Sad as the diapason of the drowned.
The mountain seems no more a soulless thing,
But rather as a shape of ancient fear,
In darkness and the winds of Chaos born
Amid the lordless heavens’ thundering–
A Presence crouched, enormous and austere,
Before whose feet the mighty waters mourn.
But rather as a shape of ancient fear,
In darkness and the winds of Chaos born
Amid the lordless heavens’ thundering–
A Presence crouched, enormous and austere,
Before whose feet the mighty waters mourn.
The flip side to Bai’s poem, Sterling’s Night on the Mountain captures the malevolence that mountains sometimes seem to possess. It’s difficult to find a heart “free of care” during a ferocious mountain storm.
If this list shows us anything, it’s that mountains encompass a rainbow-spectrum of meaning. They are beautiful and ugly, peaceful and malevolent, holy and unholy — sometimes all at once. The shape shifting nature of mountains will continue to inspire and provoke us with wonder, and will continue to scare us, as well.
This is so profound. Good job.
ReplyDelete