 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
293
“A FINE DAY IN THE MORNING.”
The sun had been gloomy; the clouds overhead
Were in doleful accord with my sorrow;
The pattering of rain made a dirge full of dread,
As I hopelessly feared for the morrow.
A tramp who for shelter stood under a tree,
Saw me look at the east where it darkened,
And, taking his pipe from his mouth, said to me,
As though to my thought-voice he hearkened—
“Just turn your eyes yonder, look upward and high
Where the sunset the west is adorning;
Streaks of crimson and gold light the gloom of the sky,
And we'll have a fine day in the morning.”
Were in doleful accord with my sorrow;
The pattering of rain made a dirge full of dread,
As I hopelessly feared for the morrow.
A tramp who for shelter stood under a tree,
Saw me look at the east where it darkened,
And, taking his pipe from his mouth, said to me,
As though to my thought-voice he hearkened—
“Just turn your eyes yonder, look upward and high
Where the sunset the west is adorning;
Streaks of crimson and gold light the gloom of the sky,
And we'll have a fine day in the morning.”
He was surely a most philosophical tramp,
With a figure well-knitted and burly;
He seemed, as he stood there, both hungry and damp,
But he neither looked sulky nor surly.
I had spurned him the moment before from the place,
Cold victuals and shelter denied him;
Yet he gazed with a placid content in my face,
As I gloomily stood there beside him.
“Yes,” he said, “for his own part he let the world go,
Its crosses and misery scorning;
He had learned, though 'twas cloudy at nightfall, to know
When we'd have a fine day in the morning.”
With a figure well-knitted and burly;
He seemed, as he stood there, both hungry and damp,
But he neither looked sulky nor surly.
I had spurned him the moment before from the place,
Cold victuals and shelter denied him;
Yet he gazed with a placid content in my face,
As I gloomily stood there beside him.
“Yes,” he said, “for his own part he let the world go,
Its crosses and misery scorning;
He had learned, though 'twas cloudy at nightfall, to know
When we'd have a fine day in the morning.”
Of course, after that I refused him no more,
Gave him supper, poor wretch, in the kitchen,
And—first putting his pipe on the shelf o'er the door—
A bed in the barn, comfort rich in.
Next morning, well-fed, he went gaily away,
With thanks for the boon unexpected;
But when I suggested hard work at fair pay,
He very serenely objected.
“He felt much obliged for the offer,” he said,
“But the state of his health gave him warning,
If he ever with labor fatigued went to bed,
He would have no fine day in the morning.”
Gave him supper, poor wretch, in the kitchen,
And—first putting his pipe on the shelf o'er the door—
A bed in the barn, comfort rich in.
294
With thanks for the boon unexpected;
But when I suggested hard work at fair pay,
He very serenely objected.
“He felt much obliged for the offer,” he said,
“But the state of his health gave him warning,
If he ever with labor fatigued went to bed,
He would have no fine day in the morning.”
Since then, when the world has been gloomy and sad,
And few hopes of success rose before me,
Whatever oppression of trouble I had,
Or whatever misfortune hung o'er me,
Instead of intently regarding the dark,
Or letting it fill me with sorrow,
I set myself out pleasant omens to mark,
And from them some comfort to borrow.
I turned my eyes westward, looked upward and high
For some sign more of promise than warning,
And sought for those warm, glowing tints in the sky
That foretold a fine day in the morning.
And few hopes of success rose before me,
Whatever oppression of trouble I had,
Or whatever misfortune hung o'er me,
Instead of intently regarding the dark,
Or letting it fill me with sorrow,
I set myself out pleasant omens to mark,
And from them some comfort to borrow.
I turned my eyes westward, looked upward and high
For some sign more of promise than warning,
And sought for those warm, glowing tints in the sky
That foretold a fine day in the morning.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |