For the clouds have passed away,
And we leave them still ungathered,
Though to-morrow is to-day.
“We will climb the hills to-morrow,
In the morning cool and bright:
Who could scale those rugged mountains
In the noontide’s scorching light?”
But the snow-wreaths clothe the summits.
And the mists hang chill and gray,
And we leave the slopes untrodden,