The Buck

Heard him from the cliff where the fern dripped,
Faint. deep, he's calling to the doe
Heard, where the brook ran cold and subtle
Straight from icy vitals of the snow.
Heard him from the trail where summer smells
So soft, and the large air is faultless balm,
Voice liKe blunt horns in caverns blown, the buck,
In granite silence and c1iffglittering calm.
Bell bell that rings in mIddle of a rock
His cry of greer, wood lifted hot and de'lse
Till forest feels it in the least, the leaf,
A murmurous knowledge out of sun and sense.
Rumor rolled on mountain wind, heard heard
From far in wood's black glamour and the place
Witness to such wild beamude
And the clear startle of Sierran grace
Somewhere, sheer hope assured, by snow's white side
And the gay dangle of dewed glaCier lilies.
Desire does overtake its own at last.
Blithe among cedar slopes the running bride
Not desperate disunion gaunt on stone,
Not the chilled heart left louder and alone.