Summit of Skiddaw, July 7, 1938

AT length here stand we, wrapt as in the cloud

In which light dwelt before the sun was born,

When the great fiat issued, in the morn

Of this fair world; alone and in a shroud

Of dazzling mist, while the wind whistling loud

Buffets thy streaming locks;—result forlorn

For us who up yon steep our way have worn,

Elate with hope, and of our daring proud.

Yet though no stretch of glorious prospect range

Beneath our vision,—neither Scottish coast

Nor ocean-island, nor the future boast

Of far-off hills descried,—I would not change

For aught on earth this solitary hour

Of Nature’s grandest and most sacred power.