The Black Swans 



No sounds of earth or air or sky 



On those Olympian heights 



Disturb thy timeless vigil. 



Blind to the passing of the circling years, 



Deaf to the voice of birds or beasts 



That come and go, ye know nor care not 



whence 

 Nor whither; 



Yesterday, today, tomorrow; all as one to thee; 

 What is thy mystery? 



Far down below thy lofty crag a smiling valley 



lies, 

 Here, midst the nodding ferns, 

 Where dainty wild flowers blow, 

 A swiftly speeding crystal stream 

 Nursed by eternal snows, 

 Flows through green fields that skirt a trail 

 Men say leads on to Paradise. 



Here, on a mossy bank, one golden summer 



day, 

 One weak and heavy laden came to rest; 

 And by the cooling waters of the limpid brook, 

 Pillowed upon the loving lap of dear old 



Mother Earth, 

 With face upturned toward the azure vault, 

 Thy noble figure, faintly limned at first, 

 Burst on his view, 

 And slowly taking, form against the blue 



[86] 



