IV. INTERLUDE

Night stands in the valley

Her head

Is bound with stars,

While Dawn, a grey-eyed nun

Steals through the silent trees.

Behind the mountains

Morning shouts and sings

And dances upward.

The peaks even today show finger prints

Where God last touched the earth

Before he set it joyously in space

Finding it good.

You, slender shining —

You, downward leaping —

Born from silent snow

To drown at last in the blue silent

Mountain lake —

You are not snow or water,

You are only a silver spirit

Singing!

Sharp crags of granite,

Pointing, threatening,

Thrust fiercely up at me;

And near the edge, their menace

Would whirl me down.

Climbing desperately toward the heights

I glance in terror behind me

To be deafened — to be shattered —

By a thunderbolt of beauty.

The mountains hold communion;

They are priests, silent and austere,

They have come together

In a secret place

With unbowed heads.

This hidden lake

Is a sapphire cup —

An offering clearer than wine,

Colder than tears.

The mountains hold it toward the sky

In silence.