Among the Foot-hills of the Rockies

Come, let us walk. 'Tis of the summer day--The long, long summer day--the lingering afternoon,And Nature here has phases all her ownI would not miss. Swift swings the river downFrom yonder towering two-leaved mountain gates,O'erhung with drapery of rose and pearl,Past winding slopes, along the valley's length,In deep concealment now, now flashing by,Contemptuous of delay, flinging a kissIn passing; lost at length in hazy light.What hands have levelled all those terracesThat look upon his course? Now see aloftWhere swaths of shadow fall and slideAmong the gold upon the dimpled hills,Cadenced in their vast and rhythmic sweep,By hollows and by seams that once were filledWith rushing torrents. See! see how they lieFold upon fold, in cycles of the past,Or wind or wave-swept into glorious shapes,And piled against the azure of the heavens.These undulating lines, like silenced wavesTaken in mid-course of their unrivalled leap,To fix forever their unresting course,Seem to my eyes, in the calm evenings, stillTo palpitate away into the moving sky.