 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
TO A YOUNG POET
In the morning of the skies
I heard a lark arise.
On the first day of the year
A wood-flower did appear.
I heard a lark arise.
On the first day of the year
A wood-flower did appear.
Like a violet, like a lark,
Like the dawn that kills the dark,
Like a dewdrop, trembling, clinging,
Is the poet's first sweet singing.
Like the dawn that kills the dark,
Like a dewdrop, trembling, clinging,
Is the poet's first sweet singing.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |