Poetry
Persia
THE passes are blocked by snow.
No word comes through, no message, and no letter.
Only the eagles plane above the snow, And wolves come down upon the villages.
The barrier of mountains is the end," The edge of the world to us in wintry Persia.
We are self-contained, shut off.
Only the telegraph ticks out its flimsy sheets, Bringing the distant news of deaths of princes.
Day after day the cold and marvellous sun Rides in the cold, the pale, the marvellous heaven, Cutting the ice-blue folds of shadow Aslant the foot-hills where the snow begins.
So would I have it, pure in isolation, With scarcely a rumour of the varied world Leaping the mountain-barrier in disturbance.
Are there not hearts that find their high fulfilment Alone, with ice between them and their friends ?
V. SACKYILLE-WEST. •
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