Page:Fiddler's Farewell.djvu/113

But now, with a slow hand
They are removed from off the summer land
Without a cry or rumble.

This thing I know:
The mist is stronger than these massive hills,
And when it wills
They go.

And I know too
Its silence is the greater;
It can subdue
Their august hush to less
Than nothingness.

And yet it grants to me
Enough of path to tread;
And one dim tree
To keep me comforted.
***
But at evening
The mountains lean from out the sky
To lap the glossy waters of the lake.

So came Hannibal's elephants,
Humped gray backs,
Heads lowered,
Lumbering through the passes,
Knee-deep in the deep water.

107