The soul where the infinite spaces fill,
Are far in the rear, and the fierce Sierras
Are under our feet, and the hearts beat high
And the blood comes quick; but the lips are still
With awe and wonder, and all the will
Is bow’d with a grandeur that frets the sky.
“A flash of lakes through the fragrant trees,
A song of birds and a sound of bees
Above in the boughs of the sugar-pine.
The pick-axe stroke in the placer mine,