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Poem by Aubrey Thomas De Vere


To a Flower on the Skirts of Mont Blanc


WITH heart not yet half rested from Mont Blanc,
Oer thee, small flower, my wearied eyes I bent,
And rested on that humbler vision long.
Is there less beauty in thy purple tent
Outspread, perchance a boundless firmament
Oer viewless myriads which beneath thee throng,
Than in that mount whose sides, with ruin hung,
Frown oer black glens and gorges thunder-rent?
Is there less mystery? Wisely if we ponder,
Thine is the mightier marvel. Life in thee
Is strong as in cherubic wings that wander,
Seeking the limits of Infinity;
Life, life to be transmitted, not to expire
Till yonder snowy vault shall melt in the last fire!



Aubrey Thomas De Vere


Aubrey Thomas De Vere's other poems:
  1. Kinsale
  2. A Ballad of Athlone; Or, How They Broke down the Bridge
  3. Composed at Rydal, September, 1860
  4. The Dirge of Athunree
  5. Roisin Dubh; Or, the Bleeding Heart


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