Classic Poem

To right, to left, the mountain wall—
Above, the narrow strip of sky;
And at my feet the Albula stream
With youth's impatience rushes by.

The air comes cool from snowy heights
And tonic with the breath of pine;
Around me like a glory spread
The flowers in rainbow beauty shine.

I leave the cares that weighed me down,
The heat and burden of the plain;
I feel the strengthening of the hills
And drink the wine of youth again.

Why thus in haste, bright mountain stream,
To leave these haunts, so fair to me,
Full soon to find the dusty plain,
Too soon the all-engulfing sea?

There comes a voice,—the streams can speak!—
‘Fair is my home and youth is free,
And glad my days, yet will I go
On to the plain, the unknown sea!

‘For life is motion and not rest,
Nor fear I what at last shall be;
The Hand that raised these mountain heights
Has scooped the hollows of the sea!’

I turn me from the happy stream,
All bright the years before me lie;
The mountains sink as up I climb,
And nearer grows the widening sky.