Stand here and look, and softly draw your breath 
Lest the dread avalanche come crashing down! 
How many leagues away is yonder town 
Set flower-wise in the valley? Far beneath 
Out feet lies summer; here a realm of death, 
Where never flower has blossomed nor bird flown. 
The ancient water-courses are all strown 
With drifts of snow, fantastic wreath on wreath; 
And peak on peak against the stainless blue 
The Alps like towering campanili stand, 
Wondrous, with pinnacles of frozen rain, 
Silvery, crystal, like the prism in hue. 
O tell me, love, if this be Switzerland -- 
Or is it but the frost-work on the pane?