The sun rose over the horizon,
A great burning ball of fire,
It cast shadows from the mountains,
So that darkness filled the valleys,
And the pure blanket of snow,
Stood in contrast to the leafless trees.

But beneath the cover of the trees,
And beyond the distant horizon,
Not a mark obscures the snow,
And the sky is filled with fire.
Where the deepest valleys,
Join with the peaks of the mountains.

Lays the secret land of mountains,
Where no man has touched the trees,
And the canyons turn to valleys.
Where no light comes from beyond the horizon,
To cloud the stars with their distant fire,
And the moon shining on the snow.

In gentle flurries falls the snow,
Painting the peaks of the mountains,
And it will not melt under the sun and its fire.
For it is shade by the trees,
Which stretch beyond the horizon,
And the darkness that lingers in the valleys.

No majesty can match that of the valleys,
Filled as they are with snow,
For the mountains hide the horizon.
And in these pockets of the mountains,
You cannot find trees,
Which have been cut for fire.

There is no fire,
Lingering in valleys,
Or charring the towering trees.
Here there is snow,
Hanging on the Mountains,
Which stretch on to the distant horizon.

Here no fire melts the snow,
And valleys make the mountains tall,
For not but trees are found this side of the horizon.