  On the mountain peak, called “Going-To-The-Sun,” I saw the Unicorn-No-Storm-Can-Tame. The center of the sun was but his eye, His mane was but the sun rays and the flame. There in that Glacier Park, above green pastures, There above Stephen’s camp fire in the rocks, He foamed and pawed and whinnied round the world, His feathered sides and plumes and bristling locks Seemed but the banners of a great announcement That unicorns were spry as heretofore, That not a camp fire of the world was dead, That dragons lived in them, and thousands more Camp-born, were clawing at the clouds of Asia, Were rising with to-morrow’s dawn for men, Camp-fire dragons, with the ancient unicorn Bringing the Rosicrucian days again. Any unicorn can drive away Any thoughts the grown-up race has spoiled. When I heard the Unicorn-of-Sunset ramping New fancies in my veins bubbled and boiled. Any unicorn is worth his oats, And so we fed him bacon, and we made An extra cup of tea, which he drank. Then he curled up coltwise, and in slumber sank. Dragons sprang up, next day, where he had stayed. They were in Fujiyama silks arrayed, Or spoke of Everest to Stephen. Then began Discussing the strange peak in Darien That poets climb to see the Pacific well. How Stephen climbed it later, I will let him tell. Following the Unicorn-No-Storm-Can-Tame Alone, in tropic woods, is a great game. |
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