EPILOGUE 
 
IN HOLLOW STONES, SCAWFELL 
 
BLIND the iron pinnacles edge the twilight ; 
Blind and black the ghylls of the mountain 
clefted, 
Crag and snow-clad slope in a distant vision 
Rise as before me. 
 
 
Here (it seems) my feet by a tiny torrent 
Press the moss with a glad delight of being : 
Here my eyes look up to the riven mountain 
Split by the thunder. 
 
Rent and rifted, shattered of wind and lightning, 
Smitten, scarred, and stricken of sun and 
tempest,