Below the Heights

I sat at Berne, and watched the chain
Of icy peaks and passes,
That towered like gods above the plain,
In stern majestic masses.

I waited till the evening light
Upon their heads descended;
They caught it on their glittering height,
And held it there suspended.

I saw the red spread o'er the white,
How like a maiden's blushing,
Till all were hid in rosy light
That seemed from heaven rushing;

The dead white snow was flushed with life,
As if a new Pygmalion
Had sought to find himself a wife
In stones that saw Deucalion.

Too soon the light began to wane;
It lingered soft and tender,
And the snow-giants sank again
Into their cold dead splendor.

And, as I watched the last faint glow,
I turned as pale as they did,
And sighed to think that on the snow
The rose so quickly faded.