The Snow-Field

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White Death had laid his pall upon the plain,
  And crowned the mountain-peaks like monarchs
  dead;
  The vault of heaven was glaring overhead
With pitiless light that filled my eyes with pain;
And while I vainly longed, and looked in vain
  For sign or trace of life, my spirit said,
  "Shall any living thing that dares to tread
This royal lair of Death escape again?"

But even then I saw before my feet
  A line of pointed footprints in the snow:
  Some roving chamois, but an hour ago,
Had passed this way along his journey fleet,
And left a message from a friend unknown
To cheer my pilgrim-heart, no more alone.

© Henry Van Dyke