’Gainst yellow dawn the smoke
Of neighbors’ chimneys stains the air,
Reminding me that yon grim, white-capped cone,
Which like a second Rainier stands in my backyard,
Like him of ash and cinders built, now calls
For more upbuilding. That white bloom
Which last night’s snow hath left upon
[p 324]
]His smooth and awful sides must now
Be sicklied o’er with more and yet more
Ashes.