by Duncan Forbes
Like unbewailing ghosts transfigured soft
by winter's brittle fingers these bright shafts
with tap'ring undulations hang aloft
the shadow-dappled roof which they engraft.
In thirst I plucked one, fondling lucent clefts
with my awakened tongue, as even now
they melt to cascade pearls so soon bereft
of that sustaining tension ice bestowes.
Such gorgeous figures with their prismy glow,
seem from all love detached 'til Spring's reprieve;--
would I were as a sculpture formed from snow,
and vernal pulse might thaw the forms my brain
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