Sweeps on, sweeps past, and never lists that hell

And heaven have awaked, in shrieking anguish,

But blows the clouds away, laughs at the sun,

And falls into unconscious, dreamless sleep.

{19}

{19}

 UNDER THE SNOW

IF green the corn and burning the volcano,

I

Though snowclad, buried under rocks of ice,

Why shall the heart not love and burn in waving

Expectant green, or rising flames of hot

Enthusiasm, or burst into a torrent

Of wrath, though snow the summit long hath crowned?

Behold! The field is green, the seed has risen

That thou hast thrown into these aching furrows,

Once ploughed by Destiny, and sown with sorrow

And watered with the wells of tears, that dropped

{20}

Upon each grain and flowed through all the furrows.

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