BATHING IN SALT LAKE 



the rocks that bounded the cove on the east. 

 The outer ranks, ever broken, ever builded, 

 formed a magnificent rampart, sculptured and 

 corniced like the hanging wall of a bergschrund, 

 and appeared hopelessly insurmountable, how 

 ever easily one might ride the swelling waves 

 beyond. I feasted awhile on their beauty, 

 watching their coming in from afar like faith 

 ful messengers, to tell their stories one by one; 

 then I turned reluctantly away, to botanize 

 and wait a calm. But the calm did not come 

 that day, nor did I wait long. In an hour or 

 two I was back again to the same little cove. 

 The waves still sang the old storm song, and 

 rose in high crystal walls, seemingly hard 

 enough to be cut in sections, like ice. 



Without any definite determination I found 

 myself undressed, as if some one else had taken 

 me in hand; and while one of the largest waves 

 was ringing out its message and spending itself 

 on the beach, I ran out with open arms to the 

 next, ducked beneath its breaking top, and got 

 myself into right lusty relationship with the 

 brave old lake. Away I sped in free, glad mo 

 tion, as if, like a fish, I had been afloat all my 

 life, now low out of sight in the smooth, glassy 

 valleys, now bounding aloft on firm combing 

 crests, while the crystal foam beat against my 

 breast with keen, crisp clashing, as if composed 



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