The stars seemed far, yet darkness was not deep; Like baby-eyes, the rays yet strove with sleep; The giant hills stood in the distance proud— On each white brow a dusky fold of cloud; Some coldly gray, some of an amber hue, Some with dark purple fading into blue; And one that blushed with a faint crimson jet— A sunset memory, tinged with cloud-regret. Close to my feet the soft leaf shadows stirred; I listened vainly, for they moved unheard— Trembled unconsciously; the languid air Crept to the rose's lip, and perished there. It was an hour of such repose as steals Into the heart when it most deeply feels; When feeling covers every shred of speech With one emotion language cannot reach. And Nature held her breath and waited there, An awed enthusiast at the shrine of prayer; Like a pale devotee, whose reverent lips Stifle the breath that burns her finger-tips.
The crimson-tinted cloud paled, with a start, As though new hope chased memory from its heart; A gleam of whiteness stirred the vapors pale, As beauty's finger moves a bridal veil; A fleecy mass, wide fringed with silver light, Drooped on the summit of the proudest height; Then, floating northward, swept in folds of grace From the white beauty of the moon's meek face. How still! how pure! that chastened luster bowed Its glance of radiance from its veil of cloud! How meek the loveliness, how kind the power, Whose arm of purity embraced the hour! How beautiful the misty robe that trailed O'er bloom that brightened, over stars that paled— Though its white fold caught in a dusky cave, Or swept its fingers o'er a gleaming wave, Piled on the sward a moss of woven gems, Or dragged in tatters through the forest stems!
A wave of beauty, only too complete, Surged o'er my head and widened at my feet; The skies seemed bowing with their wealth of light, Yet earth sprang heavenward, 'twas so more than bright: My heart found no expression—sought for none; Why analyze the bliss it fed upon? 'All its sensations blended into one— Solemn, yet shadowless—most glad, yet deep; I could not smile, yet had no wish to weep. My restless thoughts seemed into one compressed, Yet in that one all others were expressed; The eloquence of all things seemed possessed, Yet no expression narrowed to my breast; My soul seemed to expand, my heart to melt, Blending with all that could be reached or felt; I had no wish unsatisfied, because My mind's volition felt superior laws. It seemed a ripple moved upon a tide, Whose heaving billow bade me onward glide; A breath borne upward by a tempest weight— A trifling circumstance controlled by fate; Something of little worth when moved apart— One trembling fiber in Creation's heart.
↑The "Wasatch" is a rugged range of mountains forming the eastern boundary of Great Salt Lake Valley.
