Explore "The Ridge-Top" by Robert Graves on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Below the ridge a raven flew / And we heard the lost curlew / Mourning out of sight below; / Mountain tops were touched with snow; / Even the long dividing plain / Showed no wealth of sheep or grain, / But fields of boulders lay like corn / And raven's croak was shepherd's horn / To slow cloud shadow strayed across / A pasture of thin heath and moss. / The North Wind rose; I saw him press / With lusty force against your dress, / Moulding your body's inward grace, / And streaming off from your set face; / So now no longer flesh and blood, / But poised in marble thought you stood, / O wingless Victory, loved of men, / Who could withstand your triumph then?