For naught knows she of her beauty,
More than the palm of its peace;
And who beyond Christ's portal to mortal
Desires would bend her knees?
The ways of the World have flowers,
And any who will pluck those;
But let there ever be a place
Where none may pluck God's rose.
ALPINE CHANT
I'm tramping thro the mountains,
They are rising white around me,
Snow peaks like patriarchs
That Winter has enthroned.
I'm tramping up the valleys
Where the cataracts sound me
Thunders they have shrilly
From eternity intoned.
I'm tramping thro the mountains,
With the clouds for my companions,
Soft clouds that float and cling
From crag to cloven crag.
I'm passing by the chalets
That o'erhang the high cañons,
Passing where the shepherds
And the flocks they pipe to lag.
I'm tramping thro the mountains
Where the pines in proud procession
Climb like a hardy host
To halo-heights of sun.
I'm listening for the sallies
Of the avalanche's Hessian
Hurl of ice and granite
Into gulfs Avernian.
I'm tramping thro the mountains
And the wind is yodling to me
Yearnings of the glaciers
To flow to summer lands.
I'm treading up the valleys
With no wanting to undo me—
For to-day I'm goalless
And the great God understands!