These mountains reign alone, they do not share <br />The transitory life of woods and streams; <br />Wrapt in the deep solemnity of dreams, <br />They drain the sunshine of the upper air. <br />Beneath their peaks, the huge clouds, here and there, <br />Take counsel of the wind, which all night screams <br />Through grey, burnt forests where the moonlight beams <br />On hidden lakes, and rocks worn smooth and bare. <br /> <br />These mountains once, throned in some primal sea, <br />Shook half the world with thunder, and the sun <br />Pierced not the gloom that clung about their crest; <br />Now with sealed lips, toilers from toil set free, <br />Unvexed by fate, the part they played being done, <br />They watch and wait in venerable rest.<br /><br />Frederick George Scott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-laurentians/
