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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
286
XXXVIII. THE BLUE GENTIAN.
With heart not yet half rested from Mont Blanc,O'er thee, small flower, my wearied eyes I bent,
And rested on that humbler vision long:
Is there less beauty in thy purple tent
Outspread, perchance a boundless firmament,
O'er viewless myriads which beneath thee throng,
Than in that Mount whose sides, with ruin hung,
Frown o'er black glen and gorges thunder-rent?
Is there less mystery? Wisely if we ponder,
Thine is the mightier! Life, dread Power, in thee
Is strong as in cherubic wings that wander
Searching the limits of Infinity,
Life, life to be transmitted, not to expire
Till yonder snowy vault shall melt in the last fire!
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |