'T IS sunrise on Saint Bernard's snow, 'T is dawn within the vale below; And in Martigny's streets appear The mule and noisy muleteer; And tinklings fill the rosy air, Until the mountain pass seems there, Up whose steep pathway scarcely stirs The long, slow line of travellers; And in the shadowy town is heard The sound of many a foreign word. Old men are there, whose locks are white As yonder cloud which veils the height; And maidens, whose young cheeks are kissed By ringlets flashing bright or dark, Whose hearts are light as yonder mist That holds the music of the lark, -- And youths are there with jest and laugh, Each bearing his oft-branded staff To chronicle, when all is done, The dangerous heights his feet have won. So toils through life the pilgrim soul Mid rocky ways and valleys fair; At every base or glorious goal His staff receives the record there, -- The names that shall forever twine, And blossom like a fragrant vine, Or, like a serpent, round it cling Eternally to coil and sting. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SWEET STAY-AT-HOME by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES TO DIANEME (1) by ROBERT HERRICK WILLIE WINKIE by WILLIAM MILLER THE LAND OF COUNTERPANE by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON MUFFLED by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE AGE OF HERBERT & VAUGHAN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |