The Mountain
By Robert Lee Frost
The mountain held the town as in a shadow.
I saw so much before I slept there once:
I noticed that I missed stars in the west,
Where its black body cut into the sky.
Near me it seemed: I felt it like a wall
Behind which I was sheltered from a wind.
And yet between the town and it I found,
When I walked forth at dawn to see new things,
Were fields, a river, and beyond, more fields.
The river at the time was fallen away,
And made a widespread brawl on cobble-stones;
But the signs showed what it had done in spring;
Good grass-land gullied out, and in the grass
Ridges of sand, and driftwood stripped of bark.
I crossed the river and swung round the mountain.
And there I met a man who moved so slow
With white-faced oxen in a heavy cart,
It seemed no harm to stop him altogether.
"What town is this?" I asked.
"This? Lunenburg."
Then I was wrong: the town of my sojourn,
Beyond the bridge, was not that of the mountain,
But only felt at night its shadowy presence.
"Where is your village? Very far from here?"
"There is no village — only scattered farms.
We were but sixty voters last election.
We can't in nature grow to many more:
That thing takes all the room!" He moved his goad.
The mountain stood there to be pointed at.
Pasture ran up the side a little way,
And then there was a wall of trees with trunks:
After that only tops of trees, and cliffs
Imperfectly concealed among the leaves.
A dry ravine emerged from under boughs
Into the pasture.
"That looks like a path.
Is that the way to reach the top from here? —
Not for this morning, but some other time:
I must be getting back to breakfast now."
"I don't advise your trying from this side.
There is no proper path, but those that have
Been up, I understand, have climbed from Ladd's.
That's five miles back. You can't mistake the place:
They logged it there last winter some way up.
I'd take you, but I'm bound the other way."
"You've never climbed it?"
"I've been on the sides
Deer-hunting and trout-fishing. There's a brook
That starts up on it somewhere — I've heard say
Right on the top, tip-top — a curious thing.
But what would interest you about the brook,
It's always cold in summer, warm in winter.
One of the great sights going is to see
It steam in winter like an ox's breath.
Until the bushes all along its banks
Are inch-deep with the frosty spines and bristles —
You know the kind. Then let the sun shine on it!"
"There ought to be a view around the world
From such a mountain — if it isn't wooded
Clear to the top." I saw through leafy screens
Great granite terraces in sun and shadow,
Shelves one could rest a knee on getting up —
With depths behind him sheer a hundred feet;
Or turn and sit on and look out and down,
With little ferns in crevices at his elbow.v
"As to that I can't say. But there's the spring,
Right on the summit, almost like a fountain.
That ought to be worth seeing."
"If it's there.
You never saw it?"
"I guess there's no doubt
About its being there. I never saw it.
It may not be right on the very top:
It wouldn't have to be a long way down
To have some head of water from above,
And a good distance down might not be noticed
By anyone who'd come a long way up.
One time I asked a fellow climbing it
To look and tell me later how it was."
"What did he say?"
"He said there was a lake
Somewhere in Ireland on a mountain top."
"But a lake's different. What about the spring?"
"He never got up high enough to see.
That's why I don't advise your trying this side.
He tried this side. I've always meant to go
And look myself, but you know how it is:
It doesn't seem so much to climb a mountain
You've worked around the foot of all your life.
What would I do? Go in my overalls,
With a big stick, the same as when the cows
Haven't come down to the bars at milking time?
Or with a shotgun for a stray black bear?
'Twouldn't seem real to climb for climbing it."
"I shouldn't climb it if I didn't want to —
Not for the sake of climbing. What's its name?"
"We call it Hor: I don't know if that's right."
"Can one walk round it? Would it be too far?"
"You can drive round and keep in Lunenburg,
But it's as much as ever you can do,
The boundary lines keep in so close to it.
Hor is the township, and the township's Hor —
And a few houses sprinkled round the foot,
Like boulders broken off the upper cliff,
Rolled out a little farther than the rest."
"Warm in December, cold in June, you say?"
"I don't suppose the waters changed at all.
You and I know enough to know it's warm
Compared with cold, and cold compared with warm.
But all the fun's in how you say a thing."
"You've lived here all your life?"
"Ever since Hor
Was no bigger than a — — " What, I did not hear.
He drew the oxen toward him with light touches
Of his slim goad on nose and offside flank,
Gave them their marching orders, and was moving.
Poem Analysis:
Robert Frost’s poem “The Mountain” is a deceptively simple narrative that captures much more than an encounter between a traveler and a local farmer. On the surface, it tells the story of a man who wanders into a rural area and converses with a local about the mountain dominating the landscape. However, underneath its plainspoken dialogue and rural imagery, the poem explores profound themes: human limitation, perspective, the value of curiosity, and the barriers between familiarity and discovery.
Structure and Style
Frost employs blank verse—unrhymed iambic pentameter—which allows for a natural, conversational rhythm while still maintaining poetic formality. The style mirrors Frost’s broader poetic philosophy: the blending of everyday speech with crafted verse. The poem is narrative in form, following a linear conversation that gradually deepens in meaning as the traveler asks more questions and the local responds in his measured, practical way.
Summary of the Narrative
The speaker describes a town overshadowed—literally and figuratively—by a great mountain. After staying there overnight, he walks toward the mountain at dawn, crosses a river, and meets a local man with a cart and oxen. Their conversation centers around the mountain—its geography, the lack of a path, the rumored spring at its summit—and the fact that, despite living nearby his entire life, the man has never climbed it. Instead, he’s worked its foothills, hunted on its sides, and heard stories about it—but never felt compelled to ascend it.
Themes and Interpretation
1. The Presence of the Mountain as a Metaphor
The mountain itself is the central symbol of the poem. It represents many things:
A physical and psychological barrier: Though the mountain is constantly present in the local's life, he has never ascended it. It becomes a metaphor for the unknown—something monumental and potentially meaningful, but left unexplored due to habit or practicality.
Human inertia and familiarity: The farmer’s line, “It doesn't seem so much to climb a mountain / You've worked around the foot of all your life,” illustrates how familiarity breeds indifference. He has seen it so long, it’s lost its mystery or urgency.
Mystery and curiosity: The traveler represents external curiosity, someone interested in discovering what lies at the summit, whereas the farmer embodies a grounded, local pragmatism that sees no reason to seek the mountaintop.
2. Perception and Reality
The speaker initially believes the town is at the mountain’s base, based on how it blocks the stars—only to find later that fields and a river separate them. This shift challenges the idea that seeing is understanding, introducing a theme of perspective: how much do we actually comprehend from where we stand?
The rumored spring—warm in winter, cold in summer—adds to this idea. It becomes a kind of mythical feature: described, but never seen firsthand. The brook’s mystery captures how folklore and local tales substitute for direct experience, and perhaps how people are content with second-hand truths.
3. Ambivalence Toward Nature and Experience
Frost’s poetry often grapples with the human relationship to nature—sometimes harmonious, sometimes ambivalent. In this poem, the man’s pragmatic view of the mountain contrasts with the traveler’s desire to explore. The farmer asks, “What would I do? Go in my overalls…?” implying that climbing simply for the sake of it would be pointless or even silly.
This tension reflects a broader philosophical question: Is knowledge or experience valuable for its own sake, or only when it has practical utility? The mountain becomes a symbol of untapped potential or unasked questions, challenging the reader to reflect on what mountains they live beside but never climb.
4. Language, Tone, and Irony
The tone throughout is gentle and restrained, but Frost infuses the poem with irony and dry humor:
“But all the fun’s in how you say a thing.”
This line might be seen as Frost winking at the reader, acknowledging that while the facts (e.g., temperature changes in the brook) might not change, poetry and storytelling shape how we experience them. In this way, Frost asserts the power of language and metaphor, even in the mouths of the unpoetic.
There’s also subtle irony in the local man’s description of Hor township: it’s so defined by the mountain that its identity is indistinguishable from it, yet its people have not engaged with it beyond its base. It’s a part of their lives, but not fully experienced.
Symbolism
- The Mountain: The great unknown, a symbol of challenge, mystery, or unfulfilled potential.
- The Spring/Brook: A kind of mythic promise, representing knowledge that is rumored but unverified.
- The River: A transitional space—the traveler crosses it before confronting the mountain, symbolic of crossing from the known to the unknown.
Character Contrast
- The Traveler (Narrator): Curious, observant, and reflective. He represents the external eye, drawn to the unknown and eager to explore.
- The Farmer (Local Man): Practical, grounded, possibly complacent. He symbolizes the internal, familiar perspective that does not seek to go beyond what is immediately useful or necessary.
A Quiet Meditation on the Unclimbed
“The Mountain” is a subtle meditation on the human tendency to leave parts of our own lives unexplored—to dwell at the foot of symbolic mountains without ever seeking their summits. Frost doesn’t scorn the farmer for his lack of curiosity, nor does he idealize the traveler’s impulse to climb. Instead, he presents both positions with respectful irony and philosophical calm.
In doing so, Frost invites us to consider our own “mountains”: the tasks, dreams, or truths we live beside but never ascend—not because we can’t, but because we choose not to. As always with Frost, the poem’s plainness belies its depth, and what seems like a rural dialogue becomes a quiet reflection on the mysteries we overlook.
Notable Quotes
- “It doesn't seem so much to climb a mountain / You've worked around the foot of all your life.”
- “But all the fun’s in how you say a thing.”
- “Warm in December, cold in June, you say?”
Each of these lines showcases Frost’s subtle blend of wit, wisdom, and poetic craftsmanship—marking “The Mountain” as a quiet but profound exploration of perspective, place, and purpose.