Spring, one night Of borrowed wool a snow-blanket spun And laid it on the mountain, light, so light -- Whiter than coined purity when it was done. So holy pure indeed that the top peak Seemed a sacrosanct, a being kneeling to confess! Proud strength in silent beauty; and all about Nor old nor new paths could know introgress. Oh, late, but not for naught, the scowling night Lent of her wintry loveliness for this: Here was the artist's vision of delight -- That Palmer knew, and Corot could not miss. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NOTHING BUT LEAVES by LUCY EVELINA AKERMAN GENTLEMEN-RANKERS by RUDYARD KIPLING ON A YOUNG BRIDE DROWNED IN THE BOSPHORUS by AGATHIAS SCHOLASTICUS PSALM 28. AD TE DOMINE CLAMABO by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |