Normale Version: Jumnotree
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Sharp, clear, and crystalline, cleaving the sky
In twain, it towers forever and alone,
Save that about its feet the tall hills lie,
Like slaves around some mighty despot’s throne;

While evermore, beneath its cold stern eye,
The short-lived centuries have come and flown,
And stars that round its head untiring fly,
Confess its glories ancient as their own.

The eagles shun it in their highest flight;
The clouds lie basking ‘neath its eminence;
Naught nears it but thin air and heaven’s sweet light,

Nor not a sound forever cometh thence,
Save of some avalanche from its summit riven,
Or thunder-tempest on its breakers driven.