Poetry Archives

I stood on the top of Pitz Languard,
 And heard three voices whispering low,
Where the Alpine birds in their circling ward
 Made swift dark shadows upon the snow.


First voice.

I loved a girl with truth and pain,
 She loved me not. When she said good by
She gave me a kiss to sting and stain
 My broken life to a rosy dye.


Second voice.

I loved a woman with love well tried,—
  And I swear I believe she loves me still.
But it was not I who stood by her side
  When she answered the priest and said “I will.”


Third voice.

I loved two girls, one fond, one shy,
  And I never divined which one loved me.
One married, and now, though I can’t tell why.
  Of the four in the story I count but three.


The three weird voices whispered low
  Where the eagles swept in their circling ward;
But only one shadow scarred the snow
  As I clambered down from Pitz Languard.