These mountains are too tall; these crags too starkly loom. They will not clothe our shivering souls as cities must. We walk on moonlit paths to forest-hidden doom. These spires that spike the sky, we cannot bear their thrust. The distant horses' bells ring pale as tepee smoke; And woman's laughter tinkles thin and strangely shrill: The wraith-like moon now wears a mountain like a cloak. Oh, city noises, break! The world is all too still! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FISH-LEAP FALL by ROBERT FROST THE AIM WAS SONG by ROBERT FROST NOBODY KNOWS BUT MOTHER by MARY MORRISON |