Jones Very (1813–1880)

I ASKED of Time to tell me where was Love;

He pointed to her footsteps on the snow,

Where first the angel lighted from above,

And bid me note the way and onward go;

Through populous streets of cities spreading wide,

By lonely cottage rising on the moor,

Where bursts from sundered cliff the struggling tide,

To where it hails the sea with answering roar,

She led me on; o’er mountain’s frozen head,

Where mile on mile still stretches on the plain,

Then homeward whither first my feet she led

I traced her path along the snow again;

But there the sun had melted from the earth

The prints where first she trod, a child of mortal birth.