Out from my window westward <br />I turn full oft my face; <br />But the mountains rebuke the vision <br />That would encompass space; <br />They lift their lofty foreheads <br />To the kiss of the clouds above, <br />And ask, "With all our glory, <br />Can we not win your love?" <br /> <br />I answer, "No, oh mountains! <br />I see that you are grand; <br />But you have not the breadth and beauty <br />Of the fields in my own land; <br />You narrow my range of vision <br />And you even shut from me <br />The voice of my old comrade, <br />The West Wind wild and free." <br /> <br />But to-day I climbed the mountains <br />On the back of a snow-white steed, <br />And the West Wind came to greet me-- <br />He flew on the wings of speed. <br />His charger, and mine that bore me, <br />Went gaily neck to neck, <br />Till the town in the valley belkow us <br />Looked like a small, dark speck. <br /> <br />And oh! what tales he whispered <br />As he rode there by me, <br />Of friends whose smiling faces <br />I am so soon to see. <br />And the mountains frowned in anger, <br />Because I balked their spite, <br />And met my old-time comrade <br />There on their very height; <br /> <br />But I laughed up in their faces, <br />As I rode slowly back, <br />While the Wind went faster and faster, <br />Like a race-horse on the track.<br /><br />Ella Wheeler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-comrade/
