In summer dusk,
The valley lies.
With far-flung shadow veil,
A cloud sea laps the precipice before the evening gale.
The welter of the cloud-waves grey cuts off from keenest sight,
The glacier looking out by day,
O'er all the district far away,
And crowned with golden light.
But o'er the smouldering cloud-racks flow,
Where gold and amber kiss.
Stands up the archipelago,
A home of shining peace.
The mountain eagle seems to sail,
A ship far seen at heaven,
And over all a serried pail of peaks like giants ranked in mail,
Fronts westward,
Threatening heaven.
But look,
A steady nestles close,
Beneath the ice-fields bound,
Where purple cliffs and glittering snows the quiet home surround.
Here place and people seem to be,
A world apart,
Alone.
Cut off from men by spate and scree,
It has a heaven more broad,
More free,
A sunshine all its own.
Look,
Mute the satyr maiden stays,
Half shadow,
Half a flame.
The deep,
Still vision of her gaze was never word to name.
She names it not herself,
Nor knows what goal may be its will.
While cow-bells chime and alphorn blows,
It bears her where the sunset glows,
Or may be further still.
Too brief thy life on highland walls,
Where close the glaciers jut.
Too soon the snowstorm's cloak enfolds stone-byre and pine-log hut.
Then wilt thou ply with hearth ablaze,
The winter's well-worn tasks.
But spin thy wool with cheerful face,
One sunset in the mountain pays,
For all their winter asks.