Page:Poems by Frances Fuller Victor.djvu/114

 The snow-clad isles of ice

Launched by wild Boreas from a northern shore

Journey the way my eyes

Turn with an envious longing evermore,

Smiling back to the sky

Its own pink blush, and, floating out of sight,

Bear south the softest dye

Of northern heavens to fade in southern night—

My eyes but look the way my joys are gone,

And the ice islands travel not alone.

The untrod fields of snow

Glow with the rosy dye of parting day,

And fancy asks if so

The snow is stained with sunset far away,

And if some face, like mine,

Its forehead pressed against the window pane,

Peers northward with the shine

Of the pole star reflected in eyes' rain;

"Ah yes," my heart says, "it is surely so,"

And like a bound bird flutters hard to go.

Port Huron, Mich., 1852. 106