Here further up the mountain slope <br />Than there was every any hope, <br />My father built, enclosed a spring, <br />Strung chains of wall round everything, <br />Subdued the growth of earth to grass, <br />And brought our various lives to pass. <br />A dozen girls and boys we were. <br />The mountain seemed to like the stir, <br />And made of us a little while-- <br />With always something in her smile. <br />Today she wouldn't know our name. <br />(No girl's, of course, has stayed the same.) <br />The mountain pushed us off her knees. <br />And now her lap is full of trees.<br /><br />Robert Lee Frost<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/birthplace-the/
