Here further up the mountain slope Than there was every any hope, My father built, enclosed a spring, Strung chains of wall round everything, Subdued the growth of earth to gra**, And brought our various lives to pa**. A dozen girls and boys we were. The mountain seemed to like the stir, And made of us a little while-- With always something in her smile. Today she wouldn't know our name. (No girl's, of course, has stayed the same.) The mountain pushed us off her knees. And now her lap is full of trees.