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MOUNTAIN PASSES.
209
Even on this our toilsome way there come
Sweet scents from bruised flowers, and winds astray :
The sound of sunshine in the wild bees' hum ;
While, tamed with fear, the birds around us play.
The very dumb things gain some good from harm, —
Courage from fright, and boldness from alarm.
Still it is hard— no darkness will be light,
Though we should call it light from night till morn ;
We can but wait until the dawning bright
Shall shew us how it was we were forlorn ;
Not all forlorn, — through deepest darkness, friend,
Love's joy alone doth never change nor end.
