The Man and his Mountain

A poem

Dusk’s blue light greys to dark atop the peak,
That looming ghost so ethereally crowned,
In snowy wreath that weeps thin veins around,
And down that ragged face which seems to speak,
“Who are you to dare to dream? You so meek!
Upon my rock and ice and height unbound,
Do look, do fear!” Such echoes fall to ground,
About my feet, so low before his bleak.

This gauntlet thrown, my long ascent does start,
His bitter blue words do deter me not,
So up and up I go, my jaw one set,
My frosted head unbowed, my blazing heart,
Is I who chooses! I who judges what!
This Earth is mine and all’s who go and get!

Sunset over Mont Blanc — Wenzel Hablik (1906)