Iceberg
Hail to thy hues! Thou lovely flower;
Still shed around thy soft perfume,
Still smile amid the wintery hour,
And boast even now a spring-tide bloom.
Thine is, methinks, a pleasing dream,
Lone lingerer in the icy vale,
Of smiles that hail the morning beam,
And sighs more sweet for evening’s gale.
Anster.
