Deep With Divine Tautology, The Sunset'S Mighty Mystery Again Has Traced The Scroll-Like West With Hieroglyphs Of Burning Gold: Forever New, Forever Old, Its Miracle Is Manifest. Time Lays The Scroll Away. And Now Above The Hills A Giant Brow Of Cloud Night Lifts; And From His Arm, Barbaric Black, Upon The World, With Thunder, Wind And Fire, Is Hurled His Awful Argument Of Storm. What Part, O Man, Is Yours In Such? Whose Awe And Wonder Are In Touch With Nature, - Speaking Rapture To Your Soul, - Yet Leaving In Your Reach No Human Word Of Thought Or Speech Commensurate With The Thing You View.