But who can clasp the roses of the snow?
The bird that sings there sings as sings a bride;
But who her mystic chaunt can understand?
O maid, I saw thee ere we met, and cried,
“The land she treads on is a virgin land!”
IV.
Gladdening, as if in founts of Eden dipped,
Thy beauty cheers and strengthens hearts forlorn,
Not like the shafts of Islam, venom-tipt;—
Dove's eyes thou hast, the glances of the morn.