How does the grandiose and beautiful natural world view the human world?
The Mountain
At evening, something behind me.
I start for a second, I blench,
or staggeringly halt and burn.
I do not know my age.In the morning it is different.
An open book confronts me,
too close to read in comfort.
Tell me how old I am.And then the valleys stuff
impenetrable mists
like cotton in my ears
I do not know my age.I do not mean to complain.
They say it is my fault.
Nobody tells me anything.
Tell me how old I am.The deepest demarcations
can slowly spread and fade
like any blue tattoo.
I do not know my age.Shadows fall down, lights climb.
Clambering lights, oh children!
you never stay long enough.
Tell me how old I am.Stone wings have sifted here
with feather hardening feather.
The claws are lost somewhere.
I do not know my age.—Elizabeth Bishop, “The Mountain”