It took that pause to make him realize The mountain he was climbing had the slant As of a book held up before his eyes (And was a text albeit done in plant.) Dwarf cornel, gold-thread, and maianthemum, He followingly fingered as he read, The flowers fading on the seed to come; But the thing was the slope it gave his head: The same for reading as it was for thought, So different from the hard and level stare Of enemies defied and battles fought. It was the obstinately gentle air That may be clamored at by cause and sect But it will have its moment to reflect. |