Poem by George Sterling

Night on the Mountain

THE fog has risen from the sea and crowned
    The dark, untrodden summits of the coast,
    Where roams a voice, in canyons uttermost,
From midnight waters vibrant and profound.
High on each granite altar dies the sound,
    Deep as the trampling of an armored host,
    Lone as the lamentation of a ghost,
Sad as the diapason of the drowned.

The mountain seems no more a soulless thing,
    But rather as a shape of ancient fear,
        In darkness and the winds of Chaos born
Amid the lordless heavens' thundering—
    A Presence crouched, enormous and austere,
        Before whose feat the mighty waters morn.

1. On a Western Beach
2. The Gleaner
3. The Black Vulture
4. To Ambrose Bierce
5. Youth and Time

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