Sonnet
Sonnet
High Muse, who first, where to my opening sight,
New-born, the loftiest summits of the world,
Silent, with brows of ice and robes unfurl’d
Of motionless thunder, shone above the night,
Didst touch my infant eyes and fill with light
Of snow, and sleepless stars, and torrents hurl’d,
And fragrant pines of morning mist-empearl’d,