Beauty Deathless

Only yesterday the hills were bare,
     And the dull sky hung, a leaden arch,
Where the banners of the misty air
     Trailed like routed armies in their march.

“Earth is in its grave!” ye would have said,
     “All its beauty buried in the grave;
Leaf and flower, and grasses, all are dead,
     Bound in lee-mail that they cannot wave!”

Lo, the morning, with unconquered beams,
     Treads his marches to his golden throne;
All the hills are flashing with his gleams,
     Million-jeweled — a Sultana’s zone!

O, the soul of Beauty never dies!
     All the fetters on her children bound,
Her immortal splendor glorifies,
     Till new triumphs every loss have crowned.

So the beauty of the soul and heart
     Still survives in suffering and care,
Which at last new glory shall impart,
     Flashing triumph through the clearing air.

So the dawning of eternal good
     Shall transfigure our encumbering ill,—
As the ice-chains glorify the wood,
     Raining diamonds over vale and hill.