Who shall venture here of the living,
These snow blasted peaks inhuman
With the howl of storms unrelenting
Where no warm green doth remain.

This bare austere peak, an apex nude
Becomes the only allowed habitat,
Poised on a precarious tip of fortitude 
To wither in living or perish by conquest.

Cloud-obscured the lowland valleys
Below of life that lives and loves blind,
For simple charm of sweet ignorance 
Seems for human thirst sufficient mead.

How is it then, the nature of Thy celestial fields,
A sterile silence with humans below to amuse?