Yosemite Valley Suite
YOSEMITE VALLEY SUITE
By Dakota Balmore
All words in quotes are those of John Muir (1838-1914). In a very few instances, the wording has been ever-so-slightly altered within the quotes to accommodate poetic flow; but that was rarely the case. The series of three dots (...) with no spaces between the dots indicate that John Muir's words are beginning or ending or that some are omitted in that particular quote. When encountered in reading, they should NOT be treated as a pause, but read as if not present. The series of four dots with a space between each dot (. . . .) is grammatical and indicates that a pause should be inserted during an oral presentation.
The Beckoning (An Introductory Poem By Jonathan Sage)
Yosemite Valley
Yosemite Valley History
El Capitan
Cathedral Spires II
Half Dome
South Dome
North Dome and Royal Arches
The Three Brothers
Yosemite Falls
Bridalveil Fall
Nevada Fall
Vernal Fall
Illilouette Fall
Ribbon Fall
Merced River
Boulder in the Meadow
The Charge of the Ice Brigade
John Muir
Yosemite Revisited
History of a Raindrop (By John Muir)
THE BECKONING By Jonathan Sage
The entrance to a valley
Unlocks yearnings in our soul
A pilgrimage of necessity
For which spent spirits toll
Come in, come in and freely take
Of Nature's changing face
Of greens and grays, and clear and haze
Plush waterfalls of lace
The creator beckons softly
"Come hither and behold
Of Greatness & self-majesty
As centuries unfold"
"Revealed in simplest pageantry
My rocks and trees and streams
Will call for man to search his soul
And rejuvenate his dreams"
"For its your soul that makes you stand
unique among my fare
When crafting this within my realm
for you and yours' to share"
"Connecting with my silent beauty
will help you comprehend
That the future seeks to hold no one
To what your life has been"
"So carve and mold and sculpt your life
As I have done so here
For time gives all the chance to know
Before I call you near"
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YOSEMITE VALLEY [OPUS 458]
"Stern, immovable..." mountain,
"How softly these rocks...adorn,
And how fine and reassuring..."
Is "...the company they keep."
"Their feet among..." the "...groves,"
Their hearts among the meadows,
"Their brows..." set cast "...in...sky,"
A million flowers high.
"The mountains along the eastern sky,
And the domes in front of them...",
Creating "...smooth rounded waves between,
Swelling higher and higher, with the dark woods..."
Couched "...in their hollows.
Serene in their massive..." security.
In the distance exists eternal peace.
Through "...white peaks embedded deep in the sky".
Soft clouds just visible in the east,
Reflecting the expectant morning glow.
The mono giant, El Capitan,
Legend of the great Ahwahneechee,
Stands as an imposing guard to the valley of myths,
Beckoning all with impressive hard-rock tales.
"On the shining glacier pavement..."
Half-Dome "...is noble...and life-like,
The most impressive of all the rocks,
Holding the eye in devout admiration,
Calling it back again and again
From falls or meadows..."
From the colors of the creeks.
"...Or even the mountains beyond."
The Cathedral Spire stands out tall,
Blunt flat-topped point of alp-like rock.
Representing our religious strength,
In reality, another impressive bastion of stone.
The legendary brothers, pinnacles three,
Fill us with man-made history
Of the local tribe of myth;
Enchanters of the fabulous tale.
North Dome, South Dome,
And the Royal Arches,
Standing like giant gnomes,
Waiting for the new world to begin.
Great falls producing "...wisps of smoke,
Gentle as floating clouds.
Though their voices fill the valley,
And make the rocks tremble
With the thunder tones of the falling water,"
Their melodic flow builds the inner peace.
Magnificent Yosemite Falls, highway from the sky,
Gate keeper between the snow-filled glacier,
And the flow of the fluid Merced River.
Tallest spray in all the Sierra.
At the entrance of the valley in the south.
A veil of a bride hangs lavish and proud.
Waiting for just the right groomy visitor
To fall hopelessly in liquid love,
And be hypnotized to hold her Venus view.
Bridalveil falls; the dreams of which life is made.
The Vernal and Nevada falls,
From atop Glacier Point,
Hide the robustness of the brook,
Guarded by a protective distance.
Old man weather using water tools,
To decorate his fine pristine valley;
Rain "washing the mountain windows".
Snow coating the stalwarts of stone.
Streams creasing the flat, green spread.
Ice that made pure silk on gneiss.
In winter, snow melts the noise,
Amplifying the musical sounds of hush.
Quieting the breath of all things wild,
Protecting life beneath its buffered cool.
"Who publishes the sheet-music of the winds,
Or the..." melodies "...of water
Written in the lines of a river?"
"One touch of nature makes the whole world kin."
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YOSEMITE VALLEY HISTORY [OPUS 475]
Oh, how a history goes...
How a history goes.
This land rose from the depths
Of the sea floor plain,
To paint cerulean skies.
Frosty glacier digits
Of debris-laden ice
Charged the mountains,
Many frozen years ago.
They scoured, and carved, and gouged;
Sculpting granites into domes,
Erecting towers of mighty stones,
That lay beneath the layered land.
The coarse elements of time,
Stripped the rock-face bare.
Again and again;
Throwing debris down...
Into the presto ballad below.
Then the river Merced,
Flowing with no mercy or care,
Ripped the land from its place,
And transferred it to a biding tide.
Repeating the cycle,
Year after year,
Repeating the cycle,
Century after century,
Repeating the cycle,
Millennium after millennium
Repeating; repeating;
Eons beyond eternity.
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EL CAPITAN [OPUS 454]
Single uniform massive whole,
Largest lith upon our Earth.
Your mighty granite stony face,
Does not make us shy away.
Close to the dangerous edge of life,
Comes forth tiny specks to dot your cliff.
They cleave, like the proverbial fly on the wall,
Not to listen, but to climb continuous
Foot, by foot, by foot;
A thousand, thousand times.
As the darkening air takes chill,
The minuscule sleep face to face.
Confined to a pillowy ledge;
Cramped against the downy crack;
Nerves of steel in a rugged mountain test.
Sentient things that creep and crawl
Along the criss-cross bands,
Against the granite stretch,
Etched in waxing pain,
To probe the sanity of man.
The chief's high brow looking down,
Sneers at the insolence born
Of this insignificant human race,
Who dares to challenge the sacred might of stone.
With strength and durability,
This keeper of the west gate,
Does trial the fate of human forms,
Having weathered glacial storms,
Has proven to out-endure all known flesh.
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CATHEDRAL SPIRES II [OPUS 459]
Exfoliation.
Steeple isolation.
Split by the sheering frost,
Shaping a granite spire.
Standing to the side,
Against Sierran sky.
Treasure in nature lost.
Found again within desire.
Inspire our hearts, mighty spire.
Inquire for us, holy spire.
Deliver our faith in tact;
In the night;
In the day;
In our life.
With a silent bell
Beckoning every cell,
With gothic beauty glossed,
Giving our soul the fire.
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HALF DOME [OPUS 460]
An Indian woman turned to stone,
Stands alone in canyon land.
Tears streaming down like foam,
Sprung forth from an angry stand.
Steeped in Ahwahneeche Indian myth,
Half-dome in half-light of day,
Forty-eight hundred feet high,
Hallmark of the valley fair.
This logo of legendary tales
"Still wears the bloom of youth",
And blossoms like a gray-domed flower,
Reaching high into the alpine air.
Having never had the half,
Of what we thought was missing.
Glacier undercut your face,
Which darkened reminiscing.
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SOUTH DOME [OPUS 461]
A wonderful monumental..." prize,
"...Its lines exquisite in fineness,
And though sublime in size,
Is finished like the finest work of art,
And seems to be alive."
Capped by an arc of a weathered crown,
Echoing the sound of a silent 'lith,
Surveyor of all in the valley land,
Invader of the catacombs of the mind,
Peacemaker for our innermost selves,
This giant stands as a monument to all.
Bard-like tall and imposing a tale,
Hidden in the frozen, distant past.
This poetic dome does diminish
The enterprise of humanity,
Turning their drone into the sweetest,
Most beautiful song of life.
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NORTH DOME AND THE ROYAL ARCHES [OPUS 462]
North Dome set as royal crown on Arches,
Is seated on the thrown of the valley.
Ruling the roar of circumstantial pomp,
Commanding the call of the mighty Merced.
The frozen ship of state,
Sailing down from the North
Did carve and shave the face
Of these puissant, prudent features.
And the arch royale,
Standing regal tall,
Invincible, princely,
Imperial, and sovereign...
Guards the valley floor
Against the intrusion of man.
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THE THREE BROTHERS [OPUS 463]
Ramparts standing ice-free
In great historic glacier ooze.
The rocks flow wet with crystalline rain,
That stains the rock with muse.
The unruffled Merced River
Reflects three brotherly images
Of the sons of Tanaya...
The last chief of the Ahwahneechee.
These leaning three towers of Pisa,
Solid. . . .sturdy. . . .and tall...
Filled with muscular might,
Yet singing soft rhymes to the eye.
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YOSEMITE FALLS [OPUS 464]
"Join in the dance and song,
Of the cascading torrent
Beating upon the rocky face
The foam ever so finer."
Her upper fall roars like the lion,
Her lower fall bellows like the bear,
But the middle cascades between just scream,
With a song for we humans to share.
With melting snows that melt to roar. . . .
Torrential, percussive crescendo.
The pelting drops do hasten down. . . .
Andante, allegro, vivace.
When dressed in white overlay of winter,
The falls seem frozen in the mists of the scene.
Showered with sheets of sheening lace,
Adorning the ice-ladened face of the queen.
The sheer beauty of power is reflected
"...Into the heart of the snowy, chanting throng..."
Raining down among "...the comet-like streamers".
Swelling with pride like a gentle mountain song.
"Descending from the cliffs
And hollows of the clouds,
To the cliffs and hollows of the rocks,
Out of the..." thundering sky
And "...into the..." thundering,
Plummeting river below.
And the trees at the base of the falls,
"Sifting spray through fine shining needles,
Whispering peace and good cheer to each."
Placing nature's beauty well within our reach.
Yosemite Falls "from form to form...",
From "...beauty to beauty, ever changing,
Never resting...speeding on with love's..." sweet tune,
"...Singing with the stars the eternal song of..." life.
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BRIDALVEIL FALL [OPUS 451]
Bridal queen in nature's veil,
Spilling forth your offset stream.
Splendor making spirits sail;
Essence shining forth to gleam.
The steam of ice-cold flow,
Swirls as mist above your rim.
Dancing, whirling, hazy show,
Enchanting drops enticing whim.
Pirouetting wedded beads,
Strung on weaves of pleasing thoughts.
Coaxing, teasing, tempting deeds,
Titillate our feelings caught.
Nuptial peace our hearts do weave,
Marriage pending to our souls.
Vow sown-in as planted seed,
To bond our soul; to give control.
Streaming liquid in ribbon pose,
Rushing down to form the veil,
Streaking to a dissipating close,
Evaporates in airy jail.
The wind-blown veil swings left--
And moves again to right --
To signify our queen's bereft,
Whose mated one is out of sight.
We stand and gaze upon her veil,
Whose beauty makes the world seem pale.
Imagination must take place,
To view her lovely wedded face.
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NEVADA FALL [OPUS 465]
Eloquent declaration of beauty -,
Leaping off a hanging valley -,
Bursting forth in open space -,
Into a watery suicide -,
Many hundred feet below -,
Cascading show for all the valley to see.
Melting snow makes for all year run.
Waters flee from retreating fields of snow.
Tempestuous brawn begs at Nevada's brink,
Like the pent-up power of a caged wildcat.
Upper step in a giant staircase
Of the mighty Merced gush,
It makes the grandest entrance.
It makes all nature hush.
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VERNAL FALL [OPUS 466]
Lower step in a giant staircase
Of cascading, crashing, wet-water falls.
Eighty feet of swath-born width,
Raging power of mellifluous strength,
Stepping stones to a lower elevation.
The Emerald pool lays between the giant steps.
Serene and cool flanked by the raging force of nature
Gone wild, but having smiled her majesty upon this land,
Established her domain of mountainous beauty.
Emerald: "A pool where it seems to rest,
And compose its gray, agitated waters
Before taking the...." final "....plunge.
Beautiful beryl gem deep in nature's setting.
Then slowly slipping over the lip of the pool,
It descends another glossy slope,
With rapidly accelerated speed
To the brink of the tremendous cliff,
And, with sublime, fateful confidence --,
Springs out free in the air."
Seeing the prismatic play of beaming light
Within its spray, creating "moonbows"
By the light of the midnight moon,
Sends the girth of nature's might,
Streaming into our war-worn souls,
Making our senses roar to life,
With the beauty of the pristine universe,
Right here on planet Earth.
"Feel your kinship to the Earth",
And your affinity for the falls.
Renew your wholesome self since birth,
Draw life's breath between the canyon walls.
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ILLILOUETTE FALL [OPUS 688]
The might of the Illilouette
opens a thousand crystal windows
to show us nature's grandeur,
and to assure we humans that
our home is yet wild and untamed.
Sister falls to the Nevada,
dressed in white, fine-grained drops,
she is torn by the tossing
of a rocky, irregular channel.
While traveling, "…however weary,
should one faint…"along "…the way…"
they'll "…gain the blessings of
one…" momentous "…mountain day.
Whatever our…" cosmic …"fate,
long life, short life, stormy or calm,
we are richer forever,"
Full of springtime bloom,
it rages forth to defy
a six hundred foot fall that is
…"not so grand a fall as Yosemite….",
not "…so symmetrical as the Vernal,
nor so airily graceful...as Bridalveil",
nor as magnificent as Nevada.
She is the valley's single curl,
set in the middle of Yosemite's forehead.
A "…haze of..." truly "…golden…" hair.
"…on her illumined…"golden "…brow
a group of yellow sparkles
of singular form and beauty
were playing, flashing up and dancing
in large flame-shaped masses,
wavering at times, then steadying,
rising and falling in accord
with the shifting forms of water.
Nothing in clouds or flowers,
on bird wings or the lips of shells,
could rival it in fineness.
It was the most divinely beautiful
mass of rejoicing yellow light
I ever beheld - one of Nature's
precious gifts that perchance
may come to us
but once in a lifetime."
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RIBBON FALL [OPUS 689]
The thin illusive Ribbon Fall
tied firmly around our chief,
to adorn; to caress; to decorate,
but for only a brief whisper in spring.
"Think of…" standing "…beside it,
seeing it white and undefined,
like a ghost in the dark,
mixing…" in "…with our dreams."
As the cold spring virgin
sheds her ephemeral tears,
crying forth the seasonal flood…
displaying her beautiful sadness
for the whole world to share,
her cool, coy waters are
already planning their migration.
Tallest fall of all the single sprays,
she is a mist of falling ribbons intertwined.
Sixteen hundred undisturbed feet
as she mists her way
to kiss the rocky talus below
with a fine spray of
vintage winter wine,
fermented by water maidens,
who, having slept in evaporation's
kingdom of whitest swirling jetties…
are there to wish the rest of the year
to be the grandest for human joy.
For those who behold the valley's gold…
for those who claim its beauty rare,
there are golden nuggets for the eyes,
and a spring of wealth for the soul.
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MERCED RIVER [OPUS 690]
"One of the most songful streams…",
singing her tune of soulful reception
of some of nature's finest glories;
reflections of mighty stones;
the briskness of ice flowing torrents;
stirring in our souls a searing heart's delight.
The noble pines and oaks
gather at her shore…
to pay her homage?
Or just to drink in
her majesty's mastery of the land?
To see the mighty Merced River,
the river of unimaginable mercy,
"…clash…" her "…upleaping waters…
like…" the "…clapping of hands;
race down the canyons
with white manes flying
in glorious exuberance of strength,
compelling huge sleeping boulders
to wake up and join in the dance…",
is to waken inside every heart,
its comatose river of calm.
With an alpine flower fringe
that decorates the valley meadows,
flowing with a "…slow stately current,
curving hither and thither,
through garden and grove,
bright and pure
as the snow of its fountains.
Such is the Merced,
the noblest of the
watery Sierra temples…"
forcing us to enter...
and give homage…
to her artful carvings.
"The Merced River…is remarkably
likened to an elm tree…
picture it standing upright,
with its lakes hanging upon
its spreading branches,
the topmost eighty miles in length."
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BOULDER IN THE MEADOW [OPUS 467]
Nestled in valley Yosemite,
Lies quite an unusual sight.
A lone boulder produced from the agony
Of a ferocious trip from a maddening height.
Humbled upward force of nature's growth.
Dynamic crushing downward blow.
Conspiring with Newton's law
To pound the valley floor.
Once you clung to the cliff side face,
Cleft in a precarious stance.
Beaten by the wind and the rain,
Waiting to escape in one moment of chance.
How insidious a feeling, if you could feel,
Knowing that you were nature's reject.
The result of her unwanted detritus,
Culminating in a tonnage of waste.
Bold; you sit in the peaceful meadow,
Cold; your stone to the beauty there.
Violence brought you to this placid place,
Unwanted; unloved by a callous natural force.
Rugged boulder of enigmatic bonds
In groves and gardens fair.
Having rested after many thousand spells,
Upon descending nature's rocky stair.
Resting long before the advent of man,
Standing very nearly three homes high,
The tiny humans did invade your site.
Their abodes you stunt against the valley sky.
The house is a house.
The lea, the lea,
And trees be but trees,
But, boulder, be you bolder
Than you merely seem to be.
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THE CHARGE OF THE ICE BRIGADE [OPUS 691]
Out of the rush of the clouds
descending from the stony
mountain fortress kingdoms,
there comes in pillowy pace
the charge of the ice brigade.
Eons of time were spent
amassing their soft white soldiers,
piling them deeper and deeper,
creating legions of fluff
hardened into white, cold stone crystals,
that have audacious intentions
of ravaging the u-shaped nymphs below.
Remembering the success of their
last distant icy escapade,
they muster for a repeat assault,
hell-bent on their frigid, rigid ice
to rape the valley maidens,
and tear from them tears
of fearful, icy stares
that drive the chaste to slavery,
encasing them all in a tomb
of impenetrable eternal ice.
As the mother sleeps in warm retreat,
the frozen tensions mount;
to pounce in shapes of icicle blades.
Anxious to season down
the warm summer dew,
they charge forth in a brigade of winter hail
at the blinding speed of rest,
ready to impale the summer hearth,
and force humanity to flee...
to cause trees to tear...
to make mountains move...
to ram water-rounded monoliths...
and force the flowers to weep in petals of rain.
Many sleeps after the frosty onslaught
of the merciless ice brigade,
mother awakens with warming shivers
that sends the ice demons
escaping yet again to their mountain hold,
safely hidden in the high
altitude's sheltering, shivering arms.
Once again spring receives
the summer promise of life's
warming breath to renew.
Mother frees the virgins
to bleed in patterned blossoms
of a long forgotten spring.
Mother is the maker.
The mistress of the muse.
She slumbers us to chilling sleep,
tenderly shaking us awake
to warm our folded flesh
in her strong, suckling breasts.
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JOHN MUIR [OPUS 692]
When you drink-in the
fabulous beauty of Yosemite,
and season it with the spice
of John Muir's words,
it makes a dish worthy of the richest souls.
Born in 1838, John Muir
was a man of pure earth.
Like a little sapling of a majestic tree,
he was transplanted from Glasgow
into the wilderness of the Wisconsin wilds.
During the bloom of his youth,
he walked from Indiana to Florida
on a one thousand mile search
looking for the adventure in nature.
A spiritual man who sailed to
San Francisco and walked into
the temple of Yosemite Valley,
to proclaim it the "grandest"
in the scheme of all nature's kingdoms.
He poked and prodded the friendly rocks,
and reported nature's grandeur,
as well as her measurements,
to the breathless, waiting world.
As the golden-souled gatekeeper
of the newly birthed national parks,
he saved Yosemite,
the mighty Sequoia,
and many other treasures
for storage in the chests of our souls.
A champion of noble causes,
universal to this day...
people stopped and listened
to what this saint had to say.
On nature's power:
"How lavish is nature,
building, pulling down,
creating, destroying,
chasing every material particle
from form to form
ever changing, ever beautiful."
On nature's beauty:
"We are now in the mountains
and they are in us,
kindling enthusiasm,
making every nerve quiver,
filling every pore and cell of us…
How glorious a conversion,
so complete and wholesome it is,
scarce memory enough of old bondage days
left as a standpoint to view it from!
In this newness of life
we seem to have been so always."
"Going to the mountains is going home."
On encroachment by man:
"Any fool can destroy trees.
They cannot run away;
and if they could,
they would still be destroyed, --
chased and hunted down
as long as fun or a dollar
could be got out of their
bark hides,
branching horns,
or magnificent bole backbones."
On preservation of the land:
"Everybody needs beauty as well as bread,
places to play in and pray in,
where nature may heal and cheer
and give strength to body and soul.
This natural beauty-hunger is displayed
in poor folks' window-gardens made up
of a few geranium slips in broken cups,
as well as in the costly lily gardens of the rich,
the thousands of spacious city parks
and botanical gardens,
and in our magnificent National parks...
Nevertheless, like everything else worthwhile,
however sacred and precious and well-guarded,
they have always been subject to attack,
by despoiling gain-seekers,--
mischief-makers of every degree...
Trying to make everything dollarable,
often thinly disguised in smiling philanthropy,
calling pocket-filling plunder
'Utilization of beneficent natural resources,
that man and beast may be fed
and the dear Nation grow great,'"
On scientific understanding:
Drifting about among flowers and sunshine,
I am like a butterfly or bee,
though not half so busy
or with sure an aim.
But in the midst of these methodless rovings,
I seek to spell out by close inspection
things not well understood.
Still, in the work of grave science,
I make but little progress."
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YOSEMITE REVISITED [OPUS 686]
Standing right before
the great Valley of Muir,
"I gaze at the stupendous
white domes...miles high...
with ever fresher admiration."
White arches over gray...
cast high above the regiment
of mighty stone sentries,
that have stood the centuries...
unheeding...unyielding...unrelenting,
guarding against the charge of the ice brigade.
Standing in the center of it all...
dwarfed by solid stone...
Giants to the left of me...
Giants to the right of me...
My insignificance swells
inside the zenith of existential calm.
In my mind I can hear the flutes
of the serene meadow song
that match the eye's view
of the valley of paradise.
Oboe weeds blowing gentle reeds
into the string-powered winds,
as the Merced dances to the flow--
of a cello-- allegro con brio.
The brass boldly plays,
"The Fanfare of the Monoliths"
English horn mists fly up
from the base of all the falls...
Yosemite, Nevada...
Bridalveil, Vernal...
The hidden Illilouette...
and the piccolo-driven Ribbon
tied firmly around our captain.
Lying there...like some great living thing...
The Valley of Muir speaks to me...
"Last year you came to see my awe.
This year you've returned...to feel it!"
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HISTORY OF A RAINDROP By John Muir]
"How interesting to trace
The history of a single raindrop!
It is not long, geologically speaking,
Since the first raindrops fell
On the newborn leafless Sierra landscapes."
"How different the lot of these falling now!
Happy..." are "...the showers that fall
On so fair a wilderness--,
Scarce a single drop can fail
To find a beautiful spot--,
On the tops of the peaks,
On the shining glacier pavements,
On the great smooth domes,
On forests and gardens and brushy moraines,
Plashing, glinting, pattering, laving."
"Some go to the high snowy fountains
To swell their well-saved stores;
Some..." go "...into the lakes,
Washing the mountain windows,
Patting their smooth glassy levels,
Making dimples and bubbles and spray."
"Some into the water-falls and cascades,
As if eager to join in their dance and song
And beat their foam yet finer;
Good luck and good work
For the happy mountain raindrops."
"Each one of them a high waterfall in itself,
Descending from the cliffs and hollows of the clouds
To the cliffs and hollows of the rocks,
Out of the sky..." filled with the "...thunder
Into the thunder of the falling river..." seams.
"Some, falling on meadows and bogs,
Creep silently out of sight to the grass roots,
Hiding softly as in a nest,
Slipping, oozing hither, thither,
Seeking and finding their appointed work."
"Some, descending through the spires of the woods,
Sift spray through the shining needles,
Whispering peace and good cheer,
To each..." and every "...one of them."
"Some drops with happy aim
Glint on the sides of crystals,
--patter on grains of gold,
And heavy, way-worn nuggets."
"Some, with....a low bass drumming,
Fall on the broad leaves of..." plants.
Some happy drops fall straight in...the cups of flowers,
Kissing the lips of lilies."
"How far they have to go,
How many cups to fill,
Great..." cups "...and small..."cups,
"...Cells too small to be seen,
Cups holding half a drop,
As well as lake basins between the hills,
Each replenished with equal care,
Every drop in all the blessed throng
A silvery newborn star with lake and river,
Garden and grove, valley and mountain,
All that the landscape holds
Reflected in its crystal depths,
God's messenger, angel of love,
Sent on its way with majesty and pomp and display
Of power that make man's greatest shows ridiculous."
"Now the storm is over..." and "...the sky is clear,
The last rolling thunder-wave is spent on the peaks,
And where are the raindrops now--
What has become of all the shining throng?"
"In winged vapor rising
Some are already hastening back to the sky,
Some have gone into the plants,
Creeping through invisible doors
Into the round rooms of cells."
"Some are locked in crystals of ice,
Some in rock crystals, some in porous moraines
To keep their small springs flowing.
Some have gone journeying on
In the rivers to join the larger raindrop...the ocean."
"From form to form, beauty to beauty,
Ever changing, never resting.
All are speeding on with love's enthusiasm,
Singing with the stars the eternal song of creation."
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