Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from A Miracle of St. Cuthbert, and Sonnets
F what avail to me is this fair clime, The tender azure of these brooding skies, Since now in earth the heart that loved me lies, Smitten with death as some pale ?ower with rime? What profits it that here in moods sublime, Nature unfolds new grandeur to my eyes Yet though these scenes I now no more may prize, lt comforts me - O perished ere thy prime That majesty thus guards thee; thee in whom Life has exchanged, through Death's mysterious power, For immortality thy mortal clay; O dear heart mouldering in the grave's cold gloom, Blue mountains round thee rise, and o'er them tower The snow-capped, dim volcanoes, far away.
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