THE warmth of life is quenched with bitter frost; Upon the lonely road a child limps by Skirting the frozen pools: our way is lost: Our hearts sink utterly. But from the snow-patched moorland chill and drear, Lifting our eyes beyond the spirëd height, With white-fire lips apart the dawn breathes clear Its soundless hymn of light. Out of the vast the voice of one replies Whose words are clouds and stars and night and day, When for the light the anguished spirit cries Deep in its house of clay. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 41 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE LAST LOOK O' HAME by HEW AINSLIE ACHIEVEMENT'S SILVER CRY by MARGARETE ROSE AKIN CLOUD-CLIMBING by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON AT A SEACOAST TAVERN by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE THE WIDOWER by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD EBB TIDE AT NOON by FRANK GELETT BURGESS |