The psalmist of the waterfalls,
It nests beside the mountain streams
And in my musings often calls
And often flashes through my dreams . . .
I have not seen, I have not heard,
The bird, not shall I hear or see,
But Muir with many a reverent word
Has loved it into life for me.
It sings, inviolate, apart,
Though he who loved it best is gone.
In many an awed and thankful heart
His love for it lives on and on.
–From Petals of Light (written in 1947?)