THE POETS.
FIRST VOICE: THE ALPS. SECOND VOICE: THE ANGEL.
Oh, for the hidden songs of showers,
And symphonies of seas!
Oh, for the secrets of a whispering wild of flowers,
And guess'd accords of the harper-wind i' the trees,
And the warm summer-bees.
For us the springs are old,
And summer after summer cold.
For us the eagles scream
Once suddenly in the sleep of snow.
A deed is done among the centuries.
An avalanche slides slow,
And rests: one more eternity it lies:
And there has been a fall across the dream
Of the white sleep of snow.
Our cold and crownéd heads are lifted up in woe,
Our barren faces,
Whose tears are sealed in awful places.
Thou art so high above.
Let be. A little life! a little love!
What shall repay the baffled soul, the vain endeavour?
