When we had found that there is no way to the white mountain We knew that we had been there always. The direct route to the summit That we had scarcely sighted through mist and cloud Is miracle, not even difficult. Our being is the single, simple thing, And the mountain and the longing, poles apart Become the axis of the living world: Their distance is the span of what we are. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BROKEN HEART by JOHN DONNE THE DESERTED LOVER CONSOLETH HIMSELF ... by THOMAS WYATT THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: KING SOLOMON by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON IN MEMORIAM, JOHN BURROUGHS by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON GHOSTS OF PAPER by PATRICK REGINALD CHALMERS THE POOR MAN'S FRIEND by ELIZA COOK TO EUGENE by ANNA BUNSTON DE BARY |