Alpine hunter
(Joseph) Joachim Raff
The heights thunder, the little bridge trembles,
but the hunter feels no dread on his dizzy path.
He strides audaciously
on the ice-fields,
where no spring glitters
and no shoot grows green;
Far beneath his feet is a misty sea
and he knows the towns of men no more;
Only through a tear in the clouds
does he glimpse the world
far below the streams:
a field turning green.