&quot;They saw the silences 

 Move by and beckon ; saw the forms, 

 The very beards, of burly storms, 

 And heard them talk like sounding seas . . 

 They saw the snowy mountains rolled 

 And heaved along the nameless lands 

 Like mighty billows; saw the gold 

 Of awful sunsets; saw the blush 

 Of sudden dawn, and felt the hush 

 Of heaven when the day sat down 

 And hid his face in dusky hands.&quot; 



Joaquin Miller 



&quot;In vain the speeding of shyness; 



In vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods . . , 



. . . where geese nip their food with short jerks, 

 Where sundown shadows lengthen over the limitless prairie, 

 Where herds of buffalo make a crawling spread of the square 



miles, far and near, 

 WTiere winter wolves bark amid wastes of snow and ice-clad 



trees . . . 

 The moose, large as an ox, cornered by hunters, plunging with 



his forefeet, the hoofs as sharp as knives . . . 

 The blazing fire at night, the sweet taste of supper, the talk, 



the bed of hemlock boughs, and the bear-skin.&quot; 



Walt Whitman 



