Like some great Merlin of an elder day,
In robes of glistening samite clasped with pearl,
White-haired, white-bearded, self-contained, and lone,
Thy radiant forehead lifted to the skies,
Majestic in pure splendor, thou dost sit,
Monarch of mountains, while the lesser kings,—
Only less kingly than thyself,—as if
In some high presence-chamber, proudly wait,
On either hand, the setting of the sun.
Far in the kindling west the globe of fire
Sinks slowly out of sight. The rich clouds fade;
The glory dies; earth shivers and is still.
Behold! thou too art growing gray with eld
When the swift afterglow, like living flame,
Crowns thee with rubies, wraps thee in soft robes
Pink-white and tender as blush roses are,
And thou art beautiful as love’s young dream!
What though the fair dream vanish as it came?
Lo! as I gaze with half-suspended breath,
The heavens open, and above thy brow
Jupiter blazes in the darkening skies,
Brightest of all thy diadem of stars.
Winter and silence and fast-gathering night!
Dost thou remember—thou who now no more
Answerest by word or token to my cry—
Dost thou remember one fair summer eve,
Long, long ago, ere winter nights came down,
When thou and I scaled yon far mountain height,
And climbed its highest peak, and stood alone,
Hand clasped in hand, heart beating close to heart,
Poised between earth and sky? Beneath us rolled,
Like ocean waves when all the winds are still,
Billows of verdure to the horizon’s verge;
Green, dimpled valleys, interlaced with streams;
Fair silver lakes, all tremulous with stars;
And multitudinous mountains, far and near,
Encompassing the whole. All this we saw,
Then turned and saw each other—which was more!