Fire and Water (Yosemite)

We went through fire and through water. -The Bible, Psalms 66:12

Water and Wind (Yosemite)

And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd-- "I came like Water, and like Wind I go." -Edward Fitzgerald, The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

Wild Cataract (Yosemite)

And the wild cataract leaps in glory. -Alfred, Lord Tennyson, The Spendor Falls

Castle Walls (Yosemite)

The splendor falls on castle walls -Alfred, Lord Tennyson, The Spendor Falls

A Celestial Thought (Yosemite)

Happy those early days! when I Shined in my angel-infancy. Before I understood this place Appointed for my second race, or taught my soul to fancy ought But a white, celestial thought, When yet I had not walked above A mile or two, from my first love, And looking back (at that short space) Could see a glimpse of his bright face; -Henry Vaughan, The Retreat

Subtle Will (Yosemite)

In the world there is nothing more submissive and weaker than water. Yet for attacking that which is hard and strong nothing can surpass it. -Lao-Tzu, Tao-te-ching, 6th Century B.C.

Soft Murmur (French Alps)

and again I hear These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs With a soft inland murmur. -William Wordsworth, Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, 1798

Haunted Spring (French Alps)

From haunted spring and dale Edg'd with poplar pale The parting genius is with sighing sent. -John Milton, On the Morning of Christ's Nativity, 1629

Melting Remembrance (French Alps)

Cold in the earth -- and fifteen wild Decembers From those brown hills have melted into spring. -Emily Brontë, Remembrance, 1846

Secret Springs (Cornell)

The everlasting universe of things Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves, Now dark--now glittering--now reflecting gloom-- Now lending splendour, where from secret springs The source of human thought its tribute brings Of waters--with a sound but half its own, Such as a feeble brook will oft assume, In the wild woods, among the mountains lone, Where waterfalls around it leap for ever, Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves. -Percy Bysshe Shelley, Mont Blanc, 1817