'Mid dewy shrubs I tore my way,
Up the wild crag where waters ran.
I listened to the babbling tide,
And thought of childhood's merry morn,—
I listened to the bird that tried
Prelusive airs, amid the thorn.
And then I went upon my way;
Yet ere the sunrise kissed my cheek,
I stood upon the forehead gray
Of some lone mountain's dizzy peak.