I.
The Heavens rest upon thee that the eye
Of man may not, for when thou sittest hid
In thunderstorm of lofty pyramid
Of thwarting sea-cloud whitening up the sky,
Then are the clouds set on thee to forbid
That man should share the mystery of Sinai;
Then are thy ashen cones again bestrid
By living fire—impenetrably nigh.
For thus, by the Dualla, art thou seen,
Home of a God they know, yet would not know;
But I, who far above their doubts have been
Upon thy forehead hazardous, may grow
To fuller knowledge, rooted sure and slow
Where lava slid—like pines Enceladine.