No human foot-print here before my own!

And it is strange to come so far—alone—

So far into this frozen forest world

Of moonlight and of shadow and deep snow,

And things I do not know,

That strike the civil vestments from my soul—

As if all law-born years were backward hurled

Toward some dim and other pole—

Some brute primordial reign

Whose voice was terror and whose life was pain.

On—up the trail I go;

Beneath my feet cold streams of moonlight glow,

And in the silver-sifted dark strange, naked fancies grow,

While the vast pines in vista, round by round,

Move with an unearthly sound,

And every tree with its white hair is crowned.

On—up—I go,

And as thru ancient Gothic arches seen

I glimpse the valley far below

That glistens with a fine fantastic sheen.

On—up—I pass,

Nor reck the night-wrought spells about me thrown,

Heedless—sucked dry of thought or will

Save to peer curious into this magician’s glass,

Who knows but that within the silence here

The cedar shadows gloom about a deer,

That stands with body lithe and slim

Struck to a statue by surprise?

Who knows but that, upon some snowy limb

A lynx, lean-bellied, pricks his tufted ear

And watches me with evil, amber eyes?

Surely beyond the stars my man-world lies—

For close to me unhallowed mountains rise

And fill my heart with fear!