Of That Blithe Throat of Thine
( MORE THAN EIGHTY-THREE DEGREES NORTH-ABOUT A GOOD DAY'S STEAMING DISTANCE TO THE POLE BY ONE OF OUR FAST OCEANERS IN CLEAR WATER — GREELY THE EXPLORER HEARD THE SONG OF A SINGLE SNOW-BIRD MERRILY SOUNDING OVER THE DESOLATION )
Of that blithe throat of thine from arctic bleak and blank,
I'll mind the lesson, solitary bird — let me too welcome chilling drifts,
E'en the profoundest chill, as now — a torpid pulse, a brain unnerv'd,
Old age land-lock'd within its winter bay — (cold, cold, O cold!)
These snowy hairs, my feeble arm, my frozen feet,
For them thy faith, thy rule I take, and grave it to the last;
Not summer's zones alone — not chants of youth, or south's warm tides alone,
But held by sluggish floes, pack'd in the northern ice, the cumulus of years,
These with gay heart I also sing.
Of that blithe throat of thine from arctic bleak and blank,
I'll mind the lesson, solitary bird — let me too welcome chilling drifts,
E'en the profoundest chill, as now — a torpid pulse, a brain unnerv'd,
Old age land-lock'd within its winter bay — (cold, cold, O cold!)
These snowy hairs, my feeble arm, my frozen feet,
For them thy faith, thy rule I take, and grave it to the last;
Not summer's zones alone — not chants of youth, or south's warm tides alone,
But held by sluggish floes, pack'd in the northern ice, the cumulus of years,
These with gay heart I also sing.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.