 | Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne |  |
I.
FRESHNESS OF POETIC PERCEPTION.
Day followed day; years perish; still mine eyesAre opened on the self-same round of space;
Yon fadeless forests in their Titan grace,
And the large splendors of those opulent skies.
I watch, unwearied, the miraculous dyes
Of dawn or sunset; the soft boughs which lace
Round some coy dryad in a lonely place,
Thrilled with low whispering and strange sylvan sighs:
Weary? the poet's mind is fresh as dew,
And oft re-filled as fountains of the light.
His clear child's soul finds something sweet and new
Even in a weed's heart, the carved leaves of corn.
The spear-like grass, the silvery rim of morn,
A cloud rose-edged, and fleeting stars at night!
| Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne | |