Bluer than Helen's eyes she lies Under the blue cloud-drifting skies;
A daughter fair of light and air Dropped among warrior mountains there.
White glaciers kiss her feet so fleet— Oh fugitive, too rare and sweet!
Will she not fling them off that cling,
And rise, a bluebird on the wing?
Will she not rise and stray away,
A blue gleam on the brow of day?
Look—still she stays, and bright, snow-white,
The glaciers guard her day and night!
