And the great life of the ancient peaks, the patience of stone,
I felt the changes in the veins
In the throat of the mountain, a grain in many centuries,
Draining the mountain wood; and I the stag drinking;
Boiling with light, wandering alone, each one the lord of
his own summit; and I was the darkness
Outside the stars, I included them, they were a part of me.
I was mankind also, a moving lichen
On the cheek of the round stone..."
- Robinson Jeffers