John Hay (8 October 1838 – 1 July 1905 / Salem, Indiana)
Th3 beauty of the northern dawns,
Their pure, pale light is thine;
Yet all the dreams of tropic nights
Within thy blue eyes shine.
Not statelier in their prisoning seas
The icebergs grandly move,
But in thy smile is youth and joy,
And in thy voice is love.
Thou art like Hecla's crest that stands
So lonely, proud, and high,
No earthly thing may come between
Her summit and the sky.
The sun in vain may strive to melt
Her crown of virgin snow-
But the great heart of the mountain glows
With deathless fire below.
Comments about this poem (Christine by John Hay )
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