The sunbeams, broken silently,
On the bared rocks around me lie,
And scales of moss; and scarce a yard
Away, one long strip, yellow-barred.
To reach it, thrust its roots aside,
And lift it on thy stick astride!
A chattering terror fills the place!
In the dead Valley! By yon fir
The locust stops its noonday whir!
As if by bullet brought to ground,
On broken wing, dips, wheeling round!