Beneath the cold, blue-cleaving peaks of snow
Like flame the April-blossomed almonds blow--
Spring-grace and winter-glory intertwined
Within the glittering web that colour weaves.
Yet who are they who troop so close behind
With raiment rustling like frost-withered leaves
That burden winter-winds with ever-restless sighs?
Love, look not back, nor ever hearken more
To murmuring shades; for us, the river-shore
Is lit with dew-hung daffodils that gleam