But the battle-ax of my fairy foe Cut to the ground my men of snow. And who was he, my fairy foe, Who brought my snowy army low? The mountain sun was my fairy foe. [Illustration: THE BATTLE-AX OF THE SUN] [Illustration] THE CHRISTMAS TREES On the high slope of Going-To-The-Sun Is a stormy Christmas, all year round, And snow-filled Christmas trees abound. [Illustration: VACHEL LINDSAY, 1922] [Illustration] THE PHEASANT SPEAKS OF HIS BIRTHDAYS Up the good slope of Going-To-The-Sun, I saw the Pheasant-Of-The-Sunrise fly. Jewels in his feathers, mixed with dew. Dew and jewels made his jeweled eye. He paused to make a sonnet, which he sang, Though nowhere else are pheasants sonneteers. He emphasized with swooping and with skipping, With winkings and intoxicated leers. And how the bushes twinkled as he caroled: “Each morning is another birthday, friend. And I have lived so many happy birthdays! There are gifts with all the suns that here ascend! Each bush, you see, has an unextinguished candle And angel-food, and icing, and candy flowers, And this long vine that climbs from earth to heaven Gives me thoughts, and most erratic powers. I eat its scarlet berries and its frosting. If I choose, it is my present every day. Then I can fly straight up to heaven’s doorstep Following the green line all the way. [Illustration] “And then I tumble like a limber leaf To my nest here, and another year is done Or another thousand years, what does it matter On the mountain peak called ‘Going-To-The-Sun’?” THE MYSTIC UNICORN OF THE MONTANA SUNSET On the mountain peak, called “Going-To-The-Sun,” I saw the Unicorn-No-Storm-Can-Tame. The center of the sun was but his eye, His mane was but the sun rays and the flame. There in that Glacier Park, above green pastures, There above Stephen’s camp fire in the rocks, He foamed and pawed and whinnied round the world, His feathered sides and plumes and bristling locks Seemed but the banners of a great announcement That unicorns were spry as heretofore, That not a camp fire of the world was dead, That dragons lived in them, and thousands more Camp-born, were clawing at the clouds of Asia, Were rising with to-morrow’s dawn for men, Camp-fire dragons, with the ancient unicorn Bringing the Rosicrucian days again. Any unicorn can drive away Any thoughts the grown-up race has spoiled. When I heard the Unicorn-of-Sunset ramping New fancies in my veins bubbled and boiled. [Illustration]