Poetry Archives

Like snow-white tents, their tapering forms
  Indent the western sky:
The jewelled gifts of countless storms
  Upon their summits lie.

The sinking moon, with fading scars,
  Hath touched their frosty spires;
Around them pale the wearied stars,
  Like waning bivouac fires.

Stray cloudlets, reddening one by one,
  Like rose leaves half unfurled,
Announce the coming of the sun
  To an awakening world.

The chief peak now hath caught the glow,
  And, soft, o’er sloping walls
And buttresses of dazzling snow,
  The flood of splendor falls;

While miles of tender pink and gold
  Incrust the blue of space,
And bands of amethyst enfold
 Each mountain’s massive base.

Gone are the tents that pierced the skies;
  But in their place, more fair,
Transfigured flowers of Paradise
  Bloom in the crystal air.