Here you will find the Poem Mist of poet Katharine Lee Bates
ON the mountain side they fashion, Those rifting shreds of storm, A figure of strange passion, A winged and sworded form. Majestic, wild, colossal, With angry arm thrown high; Those swaying shoulders jostle The glory from the sky. Then flows the happy hour. That tyrant of the mist Turns to a wavering tower And melts in amethyst, Foretelling thus the cycle ? O speed it, Holy Dove!? When the Archangel Michael Shall vanish into Love.
