Ce Qu'On Entend Sur La Montagne Poem by David Mitchell

He trudges forcefully towards the height
That crowns the glory of the arduous hill;
At long last his feet on that summit light,
And for the first time in an age are still;
He looks down at the view beneath, until
Its beauty does not move him, but he hears
And feels, submitting to the Supreme Will,
The cold breath of the wind upon his ears,
Making him listen to his silent hopes and fears.

Now memories haunt him like so many ghosts,
Intangible, for ever now past reach;
His brain's each thought before him slowly coasts,
Nor does he exercise his power of speech:
Is it his part to learn now or to teach
His soul something she did not know before?
What must he teach or learn, if so? We each
Can learn, did we but open wide the door,
And know that of Infinity is ever more.

His reverie subsided, and he went
Down and away, to shelter, but not home;
'Twas not an easy, though a steep, descent;
And often would he through the country roam,
And often thoughts profound to him would come;
He suffer'd what he must, did not complain,
But sadly read the universe's tome;
But always hope would come to him again,
Relieving him somewhat from misery and pain.

(Saturday,21st October,2006.)