The piping of reeds, the roaring of wild beasts,
And cries of human woe!
That would be my delight, the while I know
On yon cold height there lies the winter's snow.
A shower of white darkness
Fills all the sleepy air; the snowy plain
Fades into the horizon far away.
Meanwhile, the sun's great disk grows faintly red
As wearily it sinks behind the clouds,
Staring as 'twere a lidless human eye.