THE HEART OF THE SOURDOUGH 



There where the mighty mountains bare their fangs unto the moon, 

 There where the sullen sun-dogs glare in the snow-bright, bitter noon, 

 And the glacier-glutted streams sweep down at the clarion call of June. 



There where the livid tundras keep their tryst with the tranquil snows ; 

 There where the silences are spawned, and the light of hell-fire flows 

 Into the bowl of the midnight sky, violet, amber and rose. 



There where the rapids churn and roar, and the ice-floes bellowing run ; 

 Where the tortured, twisted rivers of blood rush to the setting sun — 

 I've packed my kit and I'm going, boys, ere another day is done. 



— Robert Service. 



