THREE ALPINE SONNETS

At dawn in silence moves the mighty stream,

The silver-crested waves no murmur make;

But far away the avalanches wake

The rumbling echoes, dull as in a dream;

Their momentary thunders, dying, seem

To fall into the stillness, flake by flake,

And leave the hollow air with naught to break

The frozen spell of solitude supreme.

At noon unnumbered rills begin to spring

Beneath the burning sun, and all the walls

Of all the ocean-blue crevasses ring

With liquid lyrics of their waterfalls;

As if a poet's heart had felt the glow

Of sovereign love, and song began to flow.