• Among a mountain made in mist
    The wails, are well, wild will-o-wisps
    being born before and bathe in bliss,

    The gale, then gained, and grew in size
    My eyes now wide with worn surprise
    Now locked and looking at late lit sky,

    The sky shows red with blazing fire
    Now honed, and honest had hauled an hour
    Now we wait while volcano tire.