MOUNTAIN TOPS
Old crater-tops! Cloud-bumped! Snow-white! Our mountains these—all day and night They show above the ridges. What? You’ve never climbed? You’ve missed a lot!
When you have known the grunts and chills, The cold, the sweat, the gasps, the thrills; And winced at dazzling snow reared high Against a dye of cobalt sky; And faced the blast that strives its best To hurl you headlong off the crest; Seen countless ranges fade into The whole vast earth-encircling blue That holds the rim of the sky’s bowl; And sniffed the clouds and watched them roll Close-packed beneath you in the sun and ride Like foaming billows at flood-tide; When you have done these things, you’ll speak With reverence of a mountain-peak.
Such friendships last—they’re not Remembered lightly nor forgot.
THE RIVER
Once I gurgled with a hiss In the glacier’s cold abyss. Dull and muffled was my song As I felt my way along Through the mystic caves of glass Far below the great crevasse. Now I greet the blessed light, Out of night and bursting white— Baby-giant—keen to forge, Loudly laughing, through the gorge; Straddling rocks and riding bumps, Brushing branches, hurdling stumps, Peevish, boiling, sluggish, slack, Lunging forward, swirling back; Leaping from a bouldered dale, Snaking through a clay-banked swale, Draining streams from every draw Down into my hungry maw, Swelling with the tribute paid— This is how a river’s made.