Were you ever out in the Great Alone when the moon was awful clear,
And the icy mountains hemmed you in with silence you most could hear,
. . .
While high overhead, green, yellow, and red,
the Northern Lights swept in bars?

Those lines are from "The Shooting of Dan McGrew," a great goofy narrative poem by Robert Service. There are guys back home who dress up in red wool shirts and suspenders, and make a good wage reciting this poem to the tourists. I could recite it for you no charge, but I've lost my suspenders.

Honest to goodness, though, there's little in this world as lonesome and wonderful as the Northern Lights on a cold winter night.