So her fear fled; and then she said,
Leaning upon her quiet bed: 
’Now thou art come, I prithee stay,
That I may see thee in the day,
And learn to know thy voice, and hear
It evermore calling me near.’

He answered:  ‘Rise, and follow me.’ 
But she looked upwards wonderingly:  50
’And whither would’st thou go, friend? stay
Until the dawning of the day.’ 
But he said:  ’The wind ceaseth, Maid;
Of chill nor damp be thou afraid.’

She bound her hair up from the floor,
And passed in silence from the door.

So they went forth together, he
Helping her forward tenderly. 
The hedges bowed beneath his hand;
Forth from the streams came the dry land 60
As they passed over; evermore
The pallid moonbeams shone before;
And the wind hushed, and nothing stirred;
Not even a solitary bird,
Scared by their footsteps, fluttered by
Where aspen-trees stood steadily.

As they went on, at length a sound
Came trembling on the air around;
The undistinguishable hum
Of life, voices that go and come 70
Of busy men, and the child’s sweet
High laugh, and noise of trampling feet.

Then he said:  ‘Wilt thou go and see?’
And she made answer joyfully: 
’The noise of life, of human life,
Of dear communion without strife,
Of converse held ’twixt friend and friend;
Is it not here our path shall end?’
He led her on a little way
Until they reached a hillock:  ‘Stay.’ 80

It was a village in a plain. 
High mountains screened it from the rain
And stormy wind; and nigh at hand
A bubbling streamlet flowed, o’er sand
Pebbly and fine, and sent life up
Green succous stalk and flower-cup.

Gradually, day’s harbinger,
A chilly wind began to stir. 
It seemed a gentle powerless breeze
That scarcely rustled thro’ the trees; 90
And yet it touched the mountain’s head
And the paths man might never tread. 
But hearken:  in the quiet weather
Do all the streams flow down together?—­

No, ’tis a sound more terrible
Than tho’ a thousand rivers fell. 
The everlasting ice and snow
Were loosened then, but not to flow;—­
With a loud crash like solid thunder
The avalanche came, burying under 100
The village; turning life and breath
And rest and joy and plans to death.

’Oh! let us fly, for pity fly;
Let us go hence, friend, thou and I.
There must be many regions yet
Where these things make not desolate.’ 
He looked upon her seriously;
Then said:  ‘Arise and follow me.’ 
The path that lay before them was
Nigh covered over with long grass; 110
And many slimy things and slow
Trailed on between the roots below. 
The moon looked dimmer than before;
And shadowy cloudlets floating o’er
Its face sometimes quite hid its light,
And filled the skies with deeper night.