Ride In the Blue Ridge

It seems as if some bold designing hand With black and silver ribbon tied the hills-- Tied by squeezing in the pliant land, And left a concrete bow beside the mills. I skimmed old roads both straight and serpentine. Before me rose the ground in squadrons lined-- In mighty columns of advancing green They split, fled past and joined themselves behind. The distant pines in sudden patches sprang To sing a martial hymn for me below. Endurance in the elements they sang A solemn song I was too fast to know. And fertile seeds of hamlets dotted fields With white and red--and lent a bustling din Of bells and hammers where a valley yields To yellow corn, to foreign soot, to men. I stopped to see the misty mountains rise In blue and gray above the ribbon strand. Their solid stillness melting into skies Aroused a sadness I could understand.