MOOSILAUKE ! mountain sagamore! thy brow
The wide hill-splendor circles. Not a peer
Among New Hampshire’s lordly heights that fear
Nor summer’s bolt nor winter’s blast hast thou
For grand horizons. Lo, to westward now
Towers Whiteface over Killington; and clear,
To north, Mount Royal cleaves the blue; while near,
Franconia’s, Conway’s peaks the east endow
With glory, round great Washington, whose cone
Of sunset shade, athwart his valleys thrown,
Darkens and stills a hundred miles of Maine !
To south the bright Lake smiles, and rivers flow
Through elm-fringed meadows to the ocean plain,-
Lone peak! what realms are thine, above, below!
Edna Dean Proctor.