Classic Poem

Art thou so strong, O lady of the vale,
That thou canst dare the utmost heights with me
And the utmost blue-grey mountain-peaks assail,
Thy foot not trembling, nor thine heart nor knee,
Thy spirit longing not to turn nor flee?
Oh, wilt thou through the iron passes follow
Making their rocky upright sheer sides ring,
Not fearing lest their awful black gulfs swallow
The gentle laugh that like a flower doth cling
To their precipitous steeps, and the sweet thing
Be no more heard amid the endless hollow
Grim laughless palace of the pale ice-king—
Canst thou, O rose of valley-passion, dare
With me to tempt this rose-embittering air?