I know a mountain, lone it lies
Under wide blue Arctic skies.
Gray against the crimson rags
Of sunset loom its granite crags.
Gray granite are the peaks that sunder
The clouds, and gray the shadows under.
Down the weathered gullies flow
Waters from its crannied snow;
Tumbling cataracts that roar
Cannonading down the shore;
And rivulets that hurry after
With a sound of silver laughter.
Up its ramparts winds a trail
To a clover-meadowed vale,
High among the hills and woods
Locked in lonely solitudes.
Only wild feet can essay
The perils of that cragged way.
And here beneath the rugged shoulders
Of the granite cliffs and boulders,
In the valley of the sky
Where tranquil twilight shadows lie,
Hunted creatures in their flight
Find a refuge for the night.
