It is as if the sound of a timid harp
Spreads with bird-like wings
Along the stone cliffs and over the valley.
And now, as if breathed by the fragrance and dew,
Out of fog blossoms a wreath of meadows;
Behind them blooms a crystal glacier blue,
And a dream-laden delicate purple grey
Plays all around the giant mountains.
Young Days
(From the German of Fritz Schnack)