What news, old timer? True that line and fence
Now subdivide the prairies and the hills;
A web of worries and machine-made ills
Denies our freedom without recompense;
That little people crowd and trade—and pass—
Nor lift their eyes beyond the day that brings
Their petty profit of the little things.....
Where once the west wind turned the prairie grass.

And yet I know, remote, a country where
God's desert peaks unmoved, outstare the sun;
And still in lonely unsought valleys run
The distant antelope; and flashing clear
The running mustangs from their dust-clouds dim
Wheel and are gone across the broken range;
Where the New Year brings the hidden ranch no change
No blurs the silence of the lava rim.

So somehow faith believe, though sense denies,
That while these peaks are free, these heavens pure,
Still something of their nature must endure
In men who meet silence of these skies;
That here these greater-hearted ones shall find
Where lesser men their lesser fortunes seek,
A mighty upland, clear from peak to peak
The free unfenced republic of the mind.

by L. Maynard Dixon,Sunset, January, 1922