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Oliver Wendell Holmes - Near The Snow-LineOliver Wendell Holmes - Near The Snow-Line
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SLOW toiling upward from` the misty vale, I leave the bright enamelled zones below; No more for me their beauteous bloom shall glow, Their lingering sweetness load the morning gale; Few are the slender flowerets, scentless, pale, That on their ice-clad stems all trembling blow Along the margin of unmelting snow; Yet with unsaddened voice thy verge I hail, White realm of peace above the flowering line; Welcome thy frozen domes, thy rocky spires! O`er thee undimmed the moon-girt planets shine, On thy majestic altars fade the fires That filled the air with smoke of vain desires, And all the unclouded blue of heaven is thine!
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