Where clouds and mountains are piled to the sky the forest deep the road remote and travelers nonexistent far off I see the solitary toad clear and bright nearby I hear a flock of birds chattering away an old man alone on a darkening ridge retiring to my hut I accept white hair but sigh that today and the years gone by are mindless like the rivers flowing east | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PORTRAIT OF A MACHINE by LOUIS UNTERMEYER ODES I, 9. TO WINTER by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS HAWTHORN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN MY SOUL by NETTIE STEPHENSON BOWEN WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL AT KENMORE, TAYMOUTH by ROBERT BURNS |