On the Alps

Daniel Routh

On the steep grassy hillside of the Alps,

The wind whistles by and rustles our scalps.

We gaze down from our lofty height,

As though king of all that lay in sight.

A distant bell echoes from yonder peak,

And neither of us dares to speak.

A hallowed silence fills the air,

And we walk on, a sacred pair;

Hand in hand, and heart to heart.

On the steep grassy hillside, of the Alps,

The breeze brushes by, and rustles our scalps.

The last warm sunbeam of the day,

Touches our face, then is away.

A distant bell echoes from yonder peak,

And neither of us dares to speak.

A hallowed silence fills the air,

And we walk on, a sacred pair;

Hand in hand, and heart to heart.