That’s plumb-full of hush to the brim;
I’ve watched the big, husky sun wallow
In crimson and gold, and grow dim,
Till the moon set the pearly peaks gleaming,
And the stars tumbled out, neck and crop;
And I’ve got that old feeling a-dreaming—
It’s middle of night on the top."
The summer—no sweeter was eve
r; The sun-shiny woods all athrill;
The grayling asleep in the river,
The bighorn asleep on the hill.
The strong life that never knows harness;
The winds of the north visiting card;
The bitterness, peace and the wildness—
The vortex that hunts me so hard.