Where we have sheltered our brief night.”
I looked—they were ashen.
She said: “See how they come together here—and here—
As the knees, the breast, the great brow, the forgotten eyes,
Of a woman,
Sitting, waiting, stark and still,
And always gray;
Though hunters camp each night between her knees,
And little fires are kindled and burned out in her hollows.”
It was so; the mountain was a stone woman sitting.