 | Poems with Fables in Prose |  |
141
Song of the Larks at Dawn
I
Shepherds who pastures seekAt dawn may see
From Falterona's peak
Above Camaldoli
Gleam, beyond forests and wildernesses bleak,
Both shores of Italy.
Fallen apart are the terrible clouds of the morning
And men lift up their eyes.
II
Birds that have circled and woundThrough the chasms below
Disappear into belts profound
Of fleet cloud, hail and snow.
The stripling land they behold not, nor high sea-bound;
Out of harsh ravines they know,
Out of night—the Earth's own shadow from orbèd morning—
They fear, they fear to rise.
142
III
Heaven's troubled continentsAre rifted, torn:
Thunders in their forest tents
Still seethe and sullenly mourn,
When aloft, from the gulfs and the sheer ascents,
Is a music born.
Hark to that music, laggard mists of the morning,
And, men, lift up your eyes!
IV
For scarce can eye see lightWhen the ear's aware
That virginals exquisite
Are raining from the air—
With sun and pale moon mingling their delight—
Adorations everywhere!
The grass hears not, nor the stony summits of morning,
But men lift up their eyes.
V
Eddy of fiery dust—Halo of rays—
Thrilling up, up, as they must
Die of the life they praise—
143
Only their sleeping-place,
From rugged wolds and rock-bound valleys of morning
The larks like mist arise.
VI
Earth sends them up from hills,Her wishes small,
Her cloud of griefs, her wills
To burst from her own thrall,
And to burn away what chains the soul or chills
In the God and fount of all.
Open your gates, O ye cities faint for morning,
And, men, lift up your eyes!
VII
Open, Night's blue Pantheon,Thy dark roof-ring
For that escaping paean
Of tremblers on the wing
At the unknown threshold of the empyrean
In myriads soft to sing.
Give way before them, temple-veils of the morning,
And, men, lift up your eyes!
144
VIII
O throngs, caught unaware,Whose glee is finding
The sun your father—who dare,
On the dark gales upwinding,
Spill out on burning air your gossamer
Of songs heaven-blinding—
Who beat the bounds and the wild marches of morning,
And take as yours the skies!
IX
They ascend, ere the red beamOn heaven grows strong,
Into that amazing stream
Of Dawn; and float along
In the future, for the future is their dream
Who roof the world with song.
Open your flowers, O ye mountains spread for morning,
And, men, lift up your eyes!
X
They hang above the wave,And are the voice
Of that light for which we crave,
They flee from poise to poise,
145
In garlands they rejoice;
They dance upon the golden surge of morning
That breaks our brooding skies.
XI
Hark! it grows less and less,But nothing mars
That rapture beyond guess,
Beyond our senses' bars;
They drink the virgin light, the measureless,
And in it fade, like stars.
They have gone past, the dew-like spirits of morning,
Beyond the uplifted eyes.
XII
Between two lamps suspendedOf Life and Death,
Sun-marshalled and moon-tended
Man's swift soul journeyeth
To be borne out of the life it hath transcended
Still, still on a breath.
For a day we, too, are the wingèd sons of the morning,
To-day we will arise!
| Poems with Fables in Prose | |