 | Poems by James Rhoades |  |
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[Bright snows, like fire on the mountains]
Bright snows, like fire on the mountains,
When the sunbeam shall bid you die,
It will be but to burst into fountains,
And over the warm earth fly.
When the sunbeam shall bid you die,
It will be but to burst into fountains,
And over the warm earth fly.
Swift stream, though the sheer rock flout thee,
From the death of yon cavern deep
Thou wilt gather thy waves about thee,
And on, like an eagle, sweep.
From the death of yon cavern deep
Thou wilt gather thy waves about thee,
And on, like an eagle, sweep.
We, too, with a blind devotion
Press onward in trembling trust;
But is it to swift, sweet motion?
Or to darkness and silent dust?
Press onward in trembling trust;
But is it to swift, sweet motion?
Or to darkness and silent dust?
| Poems by James Rhoades | |