Arising from the plain; a hill, its like unknown, it’s age undreamed. It trembled once upon a time, So once it was believed. There I did wander restless, Upon it’s slopes I took to climb It’s sylvan hide, flesh of lime; now drowning in the depths of time. And whose words there echoed on the wind? Were they his? Could they be mine? I saw them scattered on the peak, I saw them splinter, Saw them shine. Such words a poet hopes to speak, Borne biting on the bre