’Mid white Sierras, that slope to the sea,
Lie turbulent lands.
Go dwell in the skies,
And the thundering tongues of Yosemitè
Shall persuade you to silence, and you shall be wise.
I but sing for the love of song and the few
Who loved me first and shall love me last;
And the storm shall pass as the storms have passed,
For never were clouds but the sun came through.