III.

No dreary harbinger art thou of woe, Of barren days, and warm life lost in death: On heav’n-kissed peaks is born the icy breath Whose touch unfolds the flowers of the snow. Spring’s buds, close-folded, lie along the bare And shivering boughs where calls the wild-voiced wind, And fine the leafless tracery is lined On blue undimmed as summer heavens wear. Hearts glow the warmer for the bitter wind, Stars are but brighter for the frosty night, Of earth despoiled love climbeth holy height, New, blossoming paths her feet, untiring, find. Thought of thy promise shining in dim skies Fills darkest hour with lights of Paradise.