Mountain Air

To cast my eyes,
Up to the cliff.
And in my breathing,
Take a whiff.

Of mountain air,
Fresh from the pine.
And let it sift,
Where branches whine.

To let the soft winds purr,
O'er hill and dale.
And to watch the eagle's flight,
Be one perpetual sail.

To let the perfume flow,
From all the flowers.
And to carry it forth,
Through the coming hours.

T'is just next to heaven,
At the scene out there.
With its high sculptured stone,
And its mountain air.

E.P. 1908 - 1989