Yosemite

Sound! sound! sound! O colossal walls and crown'd In one eternal thunder! Sound! sound! sound! O ye oceans overhead, While we walk, subdued in wonder, In the ferns and grasses, under And beside the swift Merced! Fret! fret! fret! Streaming, sounding banners, set On the giant granite castles In the clouds and in the snow! But the foe he comes not yet, We are loyal, valiant vassals, And we touch the trailing tassles Of the banners far below. Surge! surge! surge! From the white Sierra's verge, To the very valley blossom. Surge! surge! surge! Yet the song-bird builds a home, And the mossy branches cross them In the clouds of falling foam. Sweep! sweep! sweep! O ye heaven-born and deep, In one dread, unbroken chorus! We may wonder or may weep, We may wait on God before us; We may shout or lift a hand, We may bow down and deplore us, But may never understand. Beat! beat! beat! We advance, but would retreat From this restless, broken breast Of the earth in a convulsion. We would rest, but dare not rest, For the angel of expulsion From this Paradise below Waves run onward and... we go.