Her loveliness to me:

Still eyes look coldly upon me,

Cold voices whisper and say—

'He is crazed with the spell of far Arabia,

They have stolen his wits away.'

[Pg 54]

[Pg 54]

THE MOUNTAINS

Still, and blanched, and cold, and lone,

The icy hills far off from me

With frosty ulys overgrown

Stand in their sculptured secrecy.

No path of theirs the chamois fleet

Treads, with a nostril to the wind;

O'er their ice-marbled glaciers beat

No wings of eagles in my mind—

Yea, in my mind these mountains rise,

Their perils dyed with evening's rose;

And still my ghost sits at my eyes

And thirsts for their untroubled snows.

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