The Mountains of California (Howard)

Grass and the rains and snow, Trumpet and tribal drum; Across my crests the people go  Over my peaks the people come. Girt with the pelts of lion and hare. Plodding with oxen wains, Climbing the steeps on a Spanish mare, Soaring in aeroplanes. Men with their hates and their ires, Men with their loves and their lust Still shall I reign when their spires And their castles tumble to dust.