It gleams athwart the rain a spectral river,
Risen from out the dim and plunging down
Into the dim again, — a thing to shiver
The pomp and pleasure of this little town
Nestling beneath its checked, sinister flow.
O glacial torrent, should God let thee go!

Mont Blanc and all her lovely court are hidden,
But there thou gleamest, scaled with frosty white,
Upgathered like some monstrous creature chidden
In act to spring, thy prey within thy sight,
Biding thine hour, relentless, stealthy, slow,
The sullen spawn of ever-breeding snow.

And yet how beautiful, with glints of beryl
Upon thy crested waves, those waves that heard
Creation's primal song, thou frozen Peril,
Arrested in thy fury by a word
Aeons of awful centuries ago!
The stars remember and the thunders know.