 | Poems |  |
258
CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN.
By easy slope to west as if it hadNo thought, when first its soaring was begun,
Except to look devoutly to the sun,
It rises and has risen, until glad,
With light as with a garment, it is clad,
Each dawn, before the tardy plains have won
One ray; and after day has long been done
For us, the light doth cling reluctant, sad to leave its brow.
Beloved mountain, I
Thy worshipper as thou the sun's, each morn
My dawn, before the dawn, receive from thee;
And think, as thy rose-tinted peaks I see
That thou wert great when Homer was not born.
And ere thou change all human song shall die!
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