  Upon the gray crags, steep and sheer, The columbines’ gold tassels swing, And wind-flowers cling, Where, lightly poised, the mountain deer Drink in the dewy atmosphere In long, deep draughts of sun and spring; From haunts that know no hunter’s snare The hermit-thrush and wood-dove wing, Whilst through green openings squirrels fare And here and there Great, silvery moths go fluttering. Along the valley, in a trail Of purple light, the mist clouds sail, And, soft and pale As wreaths of newly risen smoke, They wrap the red-wood trees and veil The topmost crests of pine and oak, And balsam boughs and juniper Wherethrough the west winds faintly stir The underwood, and gently stroke The tall young ferns, and smooth the fur Of countless happy forest-folk. Save to the fondling winds alone, Bright eyes, that sparkle free of fear, O earth is sweet, and life is dear! Here in these forests, still your own, In primal peace, this many a year God keep you here! Here where across the waking lands Young willows wave their bloomy wands, Whilst up the heights and far away The pine trees climb in singing bands And feathery spruces surge and sway And clap their cones, like little hands, For gladness of the day! Up, up, they clamber on until The tenuous air smites keen and chill, And far winds blow From leagues of everlasting snow; And then the mountain buds, more bold, Their sheaths unfold And light their golden fires and glow With flame unquenched by frost or cold. Whilst ever o’er them, shimmering high Against the sky, A glittering, crystal radiance streams, Wherein the mountain floats and gleams Through frosty fleeces, till it seems That some great morning star, instead Of earth, hangs trembling overhead, An airy miracle, overspread With veils of silvery tissue spun Of ice and mist and snow and sun. A dazzle of all lights in one! I watch it till, tall towering there Through brightening air, Such special splendor does it wear It seems the sun’s own citadel, At sight whereof my lips grow dumb With joy I find no voice to tell; So stricken silent, as with some Deep gladness of o’ermastering spell; Nor any song of mine may dare To follow where The summit’s utmost radiant peak, Bright as God’s chosen cherubim, Soars through the smiling sky to seek And fearless front the face of Him.
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