Below the Heights

I SAT at Berne, and watched the chain 
  Of icy peaks and passes, 
That towered like gods above the plain, 
  In stern majestic masses. 
 
I waited till the evening light 
  Upon their heads descended; 
They caught it on their glittering height, 
  And held it there suspended. 
 
I saw the red spread o’er the white, 
  How like a maiden’s blushing,
Till all were hid in rosy light 
  That seemed from heaven rushing; 
 
The dead white snow was flushed with life, 
  As if a new Pygmalion 
Had sought to find himself a wife 
  In stones that saw Deucalion. 
 
Too soon the light began to wane; 
  It lingered soft and tender, 
And the snow-giants sank again 
  Into their cold dead splendor.
 
And, as I watched the last faint glow, 
  I turned as pale as they did, 
And sighed to think that on the snow 
  The rose so quickly faded.