Page:Poems·from·the·Port·Hills-Blanche·Edith·Baughan-1923.pdf/19

 Now the snows were a march of kings, and the sea was a glass of glory; Halo’d with rose was the plain, and robed in royalest purple; The hill-top glow’d, and rays from the deep-down city windows Flash’d through the shining mist like triumph from tear-fill’d eyes.