Mount Taylor is a grandma in her cap Looking from out her ruffles while she knits So quietly counting stitches while time flits And caring nothing ever, come what hap. All peacefully enthroned upon her chair While snow-lace cap falls down upon one eye She does not care how people may drift by Nor seeks one gift of praise, rude blame, or prayer. We come and go like ants beneath that dome Often unquiet, and never satisfied; Fevered with wants and cold with weary loss. Mount Taylor points us to our alter-home Lifting forever she may thus abide, Her cup held pure; while we mix gold with dross. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CELEBRATION by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS WHEN I'M KILLED by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES LIKE A LAVEROCK IN THE LIFT by JEAN INGELOW THE HEART KNOWETH ITS OWN BITTERNESS' (2) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI SONNET: 64 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE |