I stood on the top of Pitz Languard,
And heard three voices whispering low,
Where the Alpine birds in their circling ward
Made swift dark shadows upon the snow.


_First voice_.

I loved a girl with truth and pain,
She loved me not. When she said good by
She gave me a kiss to sting and stain
My broken life to a rosy dye.


_Second voice_.

I loved a woman with love well tried,--
And I swear I believe she loves me still.
But it was not I who stood by her side
When she answered the priest and said "I will."


_Third voice._

I loved two girls, one fond, one shy,
And I never divined which one loved me.
One married, and now, though I can't tell why.
Of the four in the story I count but three.