The Wings of the Mountains

FROM THE SANSRKIT Before there were clouds in the heavens, Before there were summers and springs, Afar in the fathomless ages The mountains, the mountains had wings. For, first of the works of creation Are they of the towering crests, And great was their grandeur and glory, And greater the pride in their breasts. They soared to the starry pavilions; Prodigious in power and girth, They darkened the world with their shadows. Yea, truly, unstable was Earth! For madly they challenged each other, Till, rising in menacing flight, They sundered the peace of the ages; In battle they measured their might. Then, rolling together, the ranges In thunderous conflict were hurled; The crags of the helmeted summits Were scattered abroad through the world; Till He that created the mountains, Who stayeth the sea with His hand, Dissevered the wings from their shoulders And rooted the hills where they stand. So, marshaled in order of battle The rolling sierras are seen; But calm are the helmeted summits, And calm are the valleys between. The snows of the æons have softened The pride of the towering crests, And sunk are the passionate fires That burned in the cavernous breasts. And still in the quiet of the evening The clouds of the heavens enfold The bulk of the great, shraggy shoulders In ivory, crimson, and gold; For these are the wings of the mountains, Though clouds to the vision of men, And thus, by the mercy of Heaven, They come to the mountains again.