The mighty mountain flings its mist-veil down;
With little flowers the gracious fields are bright,
And from the forest colors flash to sight
Like gems that drop from off a Calif's crown.
Upon the meadows settles shimmering down
A band of butterflies in rainbow flight;
Cicadas call and call in day's delight,
And bees are dreaming in a blossom's crown.
The waves beneath the cliff are thunder-pale,
Now upward, upward in their rage they rise
And tawny are their crests as tigers' eyes.
The sun is focused on one white, far sail
And on blue, shining deeps as smooth as glass
Wherein slim cranes are shadowed as they pass.