II.—NOON.
I climb the rugged slopes that sweep with strength
And lines, scarce broken, from the desert wide,
Beneath whose shadow frailest flowers abide
And sweetest waters trip their murmuring length;
I stand upon the crown—the autumn air
Blows shivering out of scarcely cloud-flecked skies,
While warm the sunshine on the gray moss lies
And lights the crimson fires low leaves spread there.
Beyond, hills mightier far are lifted, stern
With ancient forest where wild crags break through,
And, nobler still, far laid against the blue,
Peaks, white with early snow, for heaven yearn——
Whose azure depths the quiet shadows wear——
Crowning my mountain with their distance fair.