Speak Not of Mountains

By Kaitlyn Grissom

O, take the ivory crystal snows,

The whorish beauty of the rose,

The sparrow’s light and lilting tune,

The sea beneath the harvest moon,

The scarlet sunsets in the west

That soothes the soul with peaceful rest

And have the grass in valleys lush,

And take the river’s foamy rush

Through forests fraught with waving trees

O’er sparkling stones, and write of these.

O, take ye up your little pen

And write of times benighted when

The mind is filled with shadows grim

And thoughts of torment bleak and dim.

Record the every flicker of

The flitting muse you say is Love.

The purest notion of the mind

Is yours to twist and chain and bind.

These things, and many other joys

Are free for ruin by your noise.

O, tell in drear long-winded breath

Of chances lost, and dark, and death

And speak in weak and droning words

Of sunny days and singing birds

And write your catchy rhythmic prose

About a life of petty woes

But do this thing, if just for me:

If ever you should chance to see

The mountains in the morning sun

Speak not, my love, but hold your tongue.