hills

Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves,And ye that on the sands with printless footDo chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly himWhen he comes back; you demi-puppets thatBy moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastimeIs to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoiceTo hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid,Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm__The noontide sun, call__ forth the mutinous winds,And __wixt the green sea and the azured vaultSet roaring war: to the dread rattling thunderHave I given fire and rifted Jove__ stout oakWith his own bolt; the strong-based promontoryHave I made shake and by the spurs pluck__ upThe pine and cedar: graves at my commandHave waked their sleepers, oped, and let __m forthBy my so potent art. But this rough magicI here abjure, and, when I have requiredSome heavenly music, which even now I do,To work mine end upon their senses thatThis airy charm is for, I__l break my staff,Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,And deeper than did ever plummet soundI__l drown my book.

You may not be able to move the mountain with one hit, but you can do so by picking up the rocks bit by bit! Stop loading yourself and go bit by bit... You will get there!

Today, she is standing at the top of a mountain and appreciating the majestic panoramic view of mesmerizing Himalaya. As a kid, she used to look up in the sky and wish for wings to fly up to the mountains. And now after a long wait of many years, she is standing here and living her dream. It__ the moment when she can__ believe her eyes because what she always dreamed of has come alive. She looks with amazement as if she__ witnessing a miracle. It is the moment of her life. She just wants to feel it. There are beautiful clouds below her and there are snow clad mountain peaks emerging from those clouds. The white peaks shining in blue sky among white clouds look like glittering diamonds to her. The view of the large lush green meadow surrounded by mountains under blue sky with a rainbow circling the horizon has put her in a state of tranquility. As the sun starts drowning in the horizon, the sky begins to boast his mystical colours. The beautiful mix of pink, orange and red looks like creating a twilight saga. She opens her both arm and takes a deep breath to entwine with the nature. The glimmering rays of the moon are paying tribute to her by kissing her warm cheeks and her eyes twinkle in bright moon light. She raises her face towards the moon and senses the flood of memories which she wants to unleash. The cool breeze lifts her ruffled hair and blows her skirt up. She closes her eyes and breathes deep as if she wants to let her know that she is finally here and then she opens her eyes and finds herself on the same wheelchair inside a room with an empty wall in front of her eye. Tears rolls down from her eye but these are the tears of Joy because she is living her dreams today. The feelings comes to her mind while waiting for her daughter who is coming back home today after her first expedition of a high range mountain ~ AB

The Hills Have EYes... so be careful where you step and where you go so far one family has went there and few of them have came back!

I know I can't own a hilltop, a meadow, or a mountainside. But keeping it a secret somehow makes it mine.

But I would point out that there is another and still more important function of great mountains - the culture not of athletic faculty alone, but of that intellectual sympathy with untamed and primitive Nature which our civilization threatens to destroy. A mountain is something more than a thing to climb. To the many who, on a fine summer day, swarm up Skiddaw or Snowdon by the well-worn pony-paths, it is pure holiday-making; to the few who (in another sense) swarm up Scafell Pinnacel or the Napes needle, it is pure gymnastics; but between or beyond these two classes there are those - pilgrims I call them - who find mountain climbing what only mountains can give, the contact with unsophisticated Nature, the opportunity to be alone, to be out of and above the world of ordinary life, to pass from the familiar sights and surroundings into a cloudland of new shapes and sounds, where one feels the fascination of that undiscoverable secret (I do not know how else to name it) by which every true nature-lover is allured.

The wastes of snow on the hill were ghostly in the moonlight. The stars were piercingly bright.

Leaders don't climb hills of success with shoes of pride. They are slippery enough to bring a person down to the valley.

You resting your head tenderly on my shoulders while we sit below the old Oak tree. And we smile at each other and gaze lovingly at the fascinating sunset over the hills. This moment makes me feel completely alive as if we have reached not just cloud nine or ten but also cloud infinity!

This stammer got me a home in Beverly Hills, and I'm not about to screw with it now.

I'm very gregarious, but I love being in the hills on my own.

Here, are the stiffening hills, here, the rich cargoCongealed in the dark arteries,Old veinsThat hold Glamorgan's blood.The midnight miner in the secret seams,Limb, life, and

moonlight disappears down the hillsmountains vanish into fogand i vanish into poetry.

In life, there are many hills and valleys to pass and you cannot avoid them! The most important thing you need is to know this: You must pass them!

I imagine God creating humans was much like cavemen creating fire_ First it sparkles brightly, full of life and beauty. But then it grows, stronger and fiercer until it becomes dangerous and uncontrollable_ Then its creator can only stand on the hill and wait for his creation to die.

To wish a life without stairs, without hills and mountains is to wish a dim life without the joy of rising with our own efforts!

Surely,_ he said, __he great mountains of the world are a present remedy if men did but know it against our modern discontent and ambitions. In the hills is wisdom__ fount. They are deep in time. They know the ways of the sun and the wind, the lightning__ fiery feet, the frost that shattereth, the rain that shroudeth, the snow that putteth about their nakedness a softer coverlet than fine lawn.

But give thanks, at least, that you still have Frost's poems; and when you feel the need of solitude, retreat to the companionship of moon, water, hills and trees. Retreat, he reminds us, should not be confused with escape. And take these poems along for good luck!