He who has lived on mountains
And echoed the wind through rain,
And heard the crash of tall thunder,
Hears nothing on a plain.
He who has seen mists curling
Blue-white against hills black pined,
Purple nights and gold mornings,
On a mesa land goes blind.
He whose sap coursed madly
As he mounted the height, became
Down on the flats a listless,
Slow-moving man and lame.
For him who sang with the hill birds
Yet lives by the sea, as I,
Not all the song of the blue deep
Can sing the blue of the sky
With the hill birds drifting by;
Not all the song of the ocean
Can ease his ache till he die.
(Benjamin Musser)
More Poetry from Benjamin Musser:
- The Song Of Rebellion (Benjamin Musser Poems)
- How To Treat A Poet (Benjamin Musser Poems)
- Trees (Benjamin Musser Poems)
- Posthumous Love (Benjamin Musser Poems)
- Ballad Of A New Villon (Benjamin Musser Poems)
- Go, If You Will (Benjamin Musser Poems)