Pikes Peak

Pikes Peak
"Spacious Skies"

Tuesday, February 28, 2017

Pyramid Lake Nested in the Rockies

There is so much beauty in all the Rocky Mountains from Colorado, Montana, and Canada's Alberta and British Columbia regions.  This is Pyramid Lake and island in Jasper National Park where many weddings are held. 

"Mountains Kiss High Heaven"

Love’s Philosophy
By Percy Bysshe Shelley    
The fountains mingle with the river
   And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
   With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
   All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
   Why not I with thine?—

See the mountains kiss high heaven
   And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
   If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth
   And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What is all this sweet work worth
   If thou kiss not me?

"Clouds his Spirit Yearned"

The Wanderer

To see the clouds his spirit yearned toward so
Over new mountains piled and unploughed waves,
Back of old-storied spires and architraves
To watch Arcturus rise or Fomalhaut,

And roused by street-cries in strange tongues when day
Flooded with gold some domed metropolis,
Between new towers to waken and new bliss
Spread on his pillow in a wondrous way:

These were his joys.
Oft under bulging crates,
Coming to market with his morning load,
The peasant found him early on his road
To greet the sunrise at the city-gates,---

There where the meadows waken in its rays,
Golden with mist, and the great roads commence,
And backward, where the chimney-tops are dense,
Cathedral-arches glimmer through the haze.

Roche de Smet

The De Smet Range and Athabasca River in Jasper National Park, Alberta Canada.

De Smet Range Jasper National Park

The De Smet Range is located between the Athabasca River Valley and the Snake Indian River Valley east of Vine Creek. De Smet Range, Jasper Park, Alberta, Athabasca River.
       Panorama viewpoint: Roche a Perdrix. Can be seen from Highway 16 .

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

"Western Lands Beneath the Sun"

Journeys End

In western lands beneath the Sun
The flowers may rise in Spring,
The trees may bud, the waters run,
The merry finches sing.

Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night,
And swaying branches bear
The Elven-stars as jewels white
Amid their branching hair.

Though here at journey's end I lie
In darkness buried deep,
Beyond all towers strong and high,
Beyond all mountains steep,
Above all shadows rides the Sun
And Stars for ever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
Nor bid the Stars farewell.


Monday, February 20, 2017

Yoho National Park

 I Travelled among Unknown Men    

By William Wordsworth   
I travelled among unknown men,
In lands beyond the sea;
Nor, England! did I know till then
What love I bore to thee.

'Tis past, that melancholy dream!
Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time; for still I seem
To love thee more and more.

Among thy mountains did I feel
The joy of my desire;
And she I cherished turned her wheel
Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed,
The bowers where Lucy played;
And thine too is the last green field
That Lucy's eyes surveyed.

Maligne Canyon

A Slumber did my Spirit Seal
By William Wordsworth    
A slumber did my spirit seal;
I had no human fears:
She seemed a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.

No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees;
Rolled round in earth's diurnal course,
With rocks, and stones, and trees.

Pyramid Mountain

Pyramid Mountain is a mountain in Jasper National Park, Alberta, Canada, named for its pyramid-like shape. James Hector named the mountain in 1859 due to its appearance from the Athabasca River valley on the eastern side of the peak.  The colors of the mountain look bronze with shades of red, orange and deep gray.

"Graceful Counterfeit of Flowers"

Flowers In Winter:  Painted upon a Porte Livre
HOW strange to greet, this frosty morn, 
  In graceful counterfeit of flowers, 
These children of the meadows, born 
  Of sunshine and of showers! 
How well the conscious wood retains        
  The pictures of its flower-sown home, 
The lights and shades, the purple stains, 
  And golden hues of bloom! 
It was a happy thought to bring 
  To the dark season’s frost and rime          
This painted memory of spring, 
  This dream of summer-time. 
Our hearts are lighter for its sake, 
  Our fancy’s age renews its youth, 
And dim-remembered fictions take          
  The guise of present truth. 
A wizard of the Merrimac,— 
  So old ancestral legends say,— 
Could call green leaf and blossom back 
  To frosted stem and spray.          
The dry logs of the cottage wall, 
  Beneath his touch, put out their leaves; 
The clay-bound swallow, at his call, 
  Played round the icy eaves. 
The settler saw his oaken flail        
  Take bud, and bloom before his eyes; 
From frozen pools he saw the pale, 
  Sweet summer lilies rise. 
To their old homes, by man profaned, 
  Came the sad dryads, exiled long,        
And through their leafy tongues complained 
  Of household use and wrong. 
The beechen platter sprouted wild, 
  The pipkin wore its old-time green 
The cradle o’er the sleeping child        
  Became a leafy screen. 
Haply our gentle friend hath met, 
  While wandering in her sylvan quest, 
Haunting his native woodlands yet, 
  That Druid of the West;        
And, while the dew on leaf and flower 
  Glistened in moonlight clear and still, 
Learned the dusk wizard’s spell of power, 
  And caught his trick of skill. 
But welcome, be it new or old,         
  The gift which makes the day more bright, 
And paints, upon the ground of cold 
  And darkness, warmth and light! 
Without is neither gold nor green; 
  Within, for birds, the birch-logs sing;          
Yet, summer-like, we sit between 
  The autumn and the spring. 
The one, with bridal blush of rose, 
  And sweetest breath of woodland balm, 
And one whose matron lips unclose          
  In smiles of saintly calm. 
Fill soft and deep, O winter snow! 
  The sweet azalea’s oaken dells, 
And hide the bank where roses blow, 
  And swing the azure bells!        
O’erlay the amber violet’s leaves, 
  The purple aster’s brookside home, 
Guard all the flowers her pencil gives 
  A life beyond their bloom. 
And she, when spring comes round again        
  By greening slope and singing flood 
Shall wander, seeking, not in vain, 
  Her darlings of the wood.
John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892)

"Nobody Cometh To Woo" - Pyramid Island

Nobody Cometh To Woo

On Martinmas eve the dogs did bark,
And I opened the window to see,
When every maiden went by with her spark
But neer a one came to me.
And O dear what will become of me?
And O dear what shall I do,
When nobody whispers to marry me--
Nobody cometh to woo?

None's born for such troubles as I be:
If the sun wakens first in the morn
'Lazy hussy' my parents both call me,
And I must abide by their scorn,
For nobody cometh to marry me,
Nobody cometh to woo,
So here in distress must I tarry me--
What can a poor maiden do?

If I sigh through the window when Jerry
The ploughman goes by, I grow bold;
And if I'm disposed to be merry,
My parents do nothing but scold;
And Jerry the clown, and no other,
Eer cometh to marry or woo;
They think me the moral of mother
And judge me a terrible shrew.

For mother she hateth all fellows,
And spinning's my father's desire,
While the old cat growls bass with the bellows
If eer I hitch up to the fire.
I make the whole house out of humour,
I wish nothing else but to please,
Would fortune but bring a new comer
To marry, and make me at ease!

When I've nothing my leisure to hinder
I scarce get as far as the eaves;
Her head's instant out of the window
Calling out like a press after thieves.
The young men all fall to remarking,
And laugh till they're weary to see't,
While the dogs at the noise begin barking,
And I slink in with shame from the street.

My mother's aye jealous of loving,
My father's aye jealous of play,
So what with them both there's no moving,
I'm in durance for life and a day.
O who shall I get for to marry me?
Who will have pity to woo?
Tis death any longer to tarry me,
And what shall a poor maiden do?

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

"All Nature Has A Feeling" - Akaroa

All Nature Has a Feeling

All nature has a feeling: woods, fields, brooks
Are life eternal: and in silence they
Speak happiness beyond the reach of books;
There's nothing mortal in them; their decay
Is the green life of change; to pass away
And come again in blooms revivified.
Its birth was heaven, eternal it its stay,
And with the sun and moon shall still abide
Beneath their day and night and heaven wide.

Monday, February 13, 2017


Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

Subtle Beauty Glenorchy

A Golden Day

The subtle beauty of this day
Hangs o'er me like a fairy spell,
And care and grief have flown away,
And every breeze sings, "all is well."
I ask, "Holds earth or sin, or woe?"
My heart replies, "I do not know."

Nay! all we know, or feel, my heart,
Today is joy undimmed, complete;
In tears or pain we have no part;
The act of breathing is so sweet,
We care no higher joy to name.
What reck we now of wealth or fame?

The past--what matters it to me?
The pain it gave has passed away.
The future--that I cannot see!
I care for nothing save today--
This is a respite from all care,
And trouble flies--I know not where.

Go on, oh noisy, restless life!
Pass by, oh, feet that seek for heights!
I have no part in aught of strife;
I do not want your vain delights.
The day wraps round me like a spell
And every breeze sings, "All is well."

Early Morning Light


Day's sweetest moments are at dawn;
Refreshed by his long sleep, the Light
Kisses the languid lips of Night,
Ere she can rise and hasten on.
All glowing from his dreamless rest
He holds her closely to his breast,
Warm lip to lip and limb to limb,
Until she dies for love of him.                         

Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1850-1919)

Sunday, February 12, 2017

Paradise Ranch

If I had a ranch, Paradise is the place I would want to be.  Surrounded by mountains with beauty all around.  It is a wonderful scenic drive from Queenstown and a getaway from the tourist and traffic congestion.  Paradise is a rural locality in the Otago region of the South Island of New Zealand. It lies on the eastern side of the Dart River at the head of Lake Wakatipu, close to the settlement of Glenorchy and 45 minute drive from Queenstown.

Sights and Sounds Across the Southern Alps

The TranzAlpine train travels from Christ Church on the East Coast across the Southern Alps to Greymouth on the West Coast.  The train stopped mid way at Arthur's Pass and again for an hour at Greymouth for us to have lunch.  I enjoyed not having to drive.