Oh, Snows So Pure!
OH, snows so pure ! oh, peaks so high !
by Sir Lewis Morris
I lift to you a hopeless eye.
I see your icy ramparts drawn
Between the sleepers and the dawn.
I see yen, when the sun has set,
Flush with the dying daylight yet.
I see you, passionless and pure,
Above the lightnings stand secure ;
But may not climb, for now the hours
Are spring's, and earth a maze of flowers.
And now, 'mid summer's dust and heat,
I stay my steps for childish feet.
And now, when autumn glows, I fear
To lose the harvest of the year.
Now winter frowns, and life runs slow,
Even on the plains I tread thro' snow.
While ye are veiled, or, dimly seen,
Only reveal what might have been ;
And where high hope would once aspire
Broods a dark storm-cloud dealing fire.
Oh, snows so pure ! oh, peaks so high !
I shall not reach you till I die !