Page:Pocahontas, and Other Poems.djvu/238

 ALPINE FLOWERS.

Fearless, yet frail ; and clasping his chill hands, Blesses your pencil'd beauty. 'Mid the pomp Of mountain-summits rushing toward the sky, And chaining the wrapt soul in breathless awe, He bows to bind ye, drooping, to his breast, Inhales your spirit from the frost-wing'd gale, And freer dreams of heaven.

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