Page:Poems Whitney.djvu/174

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168
facts in verse.
A speck here, journeying to the west,
One sees a mount with beetling top,
The very plunge of the wave, when drop
The flashing curls from its sharp, white crest.

Soon you come to the mountain land;
Where peak beyond peak in their cloud abodes,
Like Titans at rest and at peace with the Gods,
The ancient, beautiful brethren stand.

So calm and sane are they, we know
When there, no more of the babble and strife,
The passion or emptiness of life,
We are up with them, and the world, below;

Above the belts where summer clings;
Where silence ever wakes and broods
Around their wild and vapory hoods,
Low rustling its enchanted wings.