"Mountain Fever"

Being a respectful parody of "Sea Fever" by John Masefield.

I must go up to the hills again, to the cliffs and valleys high,
And all I ask is a trusty compass-point to steer me by;
And the lonely cry of the wind's rush, and the pine-needles' shaking,
And a grey mist in the flat light, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go up to the hills again, for the call of the mountainside
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a bluebird day for the lofty mountain spires,
And the red and gold on the chiseled peaks of the setting sun's pyres.

I must go up to the hills again, to the wild, ranging life,
To the elk's way and the cougar's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a traveler's tale from a crusty fellow-rover,
And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trek's over.

Original text of "Sea Fever," in case you want to compare:

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.