THE GRANITE MOUNTAIN
To C. S.
I know a mountain, lone it liesUnder wide blue Arctic skies.
Gray against the crimson ragsOf sunset loom its granite crags.
Gray granite are the peaks that sunderThe clouds, and gray the shadows under.
Down the weathered gullies flowWaters from its crannied snow;
Tumbling cataracts that roarCannonading down the shore;
And rivulets that hurry afterWith a sound of silver laughter.
Up its ramparts winds a trailTo a clover-meadowed vale,
High among the hills and woodsLocked in lonely solitudes.
40
