An Alpine Walk

Underneath the peaks of snow,
On the edge of nature's glacis,
Where the torrent far below
Ever rants, and roars and races,
And a man with just one slip
May come down a thousand paces;
So we walked from Engelberg
With the breeze upon our faces.

And we talked of many things
As we tramped through that oasis;
Of republics and of kings,
Of religion and its basis,
Of the patience of the poor,
Of the evil in high places,
So we walked from Engelberg
With the breeze upon our faces.

Then we spoke of England, too,
And the Anglo-Celtic races,
Also of the landlord crew
And our law and its disgraces,
With the selfishness of man
Which has left such evil traces;
So we walked from Engelberg
With the wind upon our faces.

And of grim Carlyle we spoke,
And of Froude's much argued cases,
How about the merest joke
He would pull the longest faces;
And of Madame, too, we talked,
Of her temper and her graces;
So we walked from Engelberg
With the wind upon our faces.

Spoke of Kipling - his command
Over life in all its phases,
How he held within his hand
All the cards from kings to aces.
Passing swift from passion's frown
Back to comedy's grimaces:
So we walked from Engelberg
With the wind upon our faces.

Well, it was a pleasant talk.
And perhaps in duller places
We may recollect that walk,
When with tightly fastened laces,
With our Alpenstocks in hand,
In that air which stirs and braces,
We three came from Engelberg
With the wind upon our faces.


Sir Arthur Conan Doyle