I SAT at Berne, and watched the chain Of icy peaks and passes, That towered like gods above the plain, In stern majestic masses. I waited till the evening light Upon their heads descended; They caught it on their glittering height, And held it there suspended. I saw the red spread o'er the white, How like a maiden's blushing, Till all were hid in rosy light That seemed from heaven rushing; The dead white snow was flushed with life, As if a new Pygmalion Had sought to find himself a wife In stones that saw Deucalion. Too soon the light began to wane; It lingered soft and tender, And the snow-giants sank again Into their cold dead splendor. And, as I watched the last faint glow, I turned as pale as they did, And sighed to think that on the snow The rose so quickly faded. |