Classic Poem

The pasture Alp is webbed with shade,
The white has caught a maiden's blush:
In waves of mist the pinewoods wade,
The valleys hush.
The waves of mist descending spread
Like fingers of the starved, & show
As held the half-veiled valleys bed
A wasting snow.

Our upper world is [blank ]
To breathe, a gift of godhead seems.