The Comet of Going-To-The-Sun

On the mountain peak, called "Going-To-The-Sun,"
A comet stopped to drink from a cool spring
And like a spirit-harp began to sing
To us, then hurried on to reach the sun.
We called him "Homer's soul," and "Milton's wing."
The harp-sound stayed, though he went up and on.
It turned to thunder, when he had quite gone--
And yet was like a soft voice of the sea,
And every whispering root and every blade of grass
And every tree
In the whole world, and brought thoughts of old songs
That blind men sang ten thousand years ago,
And all the springtime hearts of every nation know.