THE SPELL OF THE YUKON 



I've stood in some mighty-mouthed hollow 



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 thought that I surely was dreaming, 



With the peace o' the world piled on top. 



The summer — no sweeter was ever ; 



The sunshiny woods all athrill ; 

 The grayling aleap in the river. 



The bighorn asleep on the hill. 

 The strong life that never knows harness ; 



The wilds where the caribou call ; 

 The freshness, the freedom, the farness — 



O God ! how I'm stuck on it all. 



There's a land where the mountains are nameless, 



And the rivers all run God knows where ; 

 There are lives that are erring and aimless, 



And deaths that just hang by a hair; 

 There are hardships that nobody reckons ; 



There are valleys unpeopled and still ; 

 There's a land — oh, it beckons and beckons. 



And I want to go back — and I will. 



— Robert Service. 



