SNOW-FLAKE

To soothe my pain because thou canst not love me,
Gazing upon me with an angel's air,
Thou dost immerse thy fingers, cool and pallid,
la the dark mane of my tempestuous hair.

'Tis vain, woman! Thou dost not console me.
We are a world apart, in naught the same.
If thou art snow, then why dost thou not freeze me?
Why do I melt thee not, if I am flame?

Thine hand, so spiritual and transparent,
When it caresses my submissive head,
Is but the snow-cap crowning the volcano,
Whose burning lava-depths beneath it spread!