 | The Poet and Nature and The Morning Road |  |
MIRACLES.
Ripple on ripple, from the east,
The golden stream of morning runs;
The dark world doffs its grays and duns;
And high o'erhead Night's robes are creased
With azure—deep as Solomon's
When he sat throned at feast.
The golden stream of morning runs;
The dark world doffs its grays and duns;
And high o'erhead Night's robes are creased
With azure—deep as Solomon's
When he sat throned at feast.
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And glittering as David when
He rode to battle, brazen-helmed,
And prayed his God and overwhelmed
His foes and flamed among his men,
The sun comes forth—a king, proud-realmed,
Who takes his throne again.
He rode to battle, brazen-helmed,
And prayed his God and overwhelmed
His foes and flamed among his men,
The sun comes forth—a king, proud-realmed,
Who takes his throne again.
One last long spear of golden-gray
The Twilight lifts, then lays aside;
And one white star, that tries to hide
Its flower there, reveals a ray;
Where, like to Ruth, dark, dewy-eyed,
Dusk goes her glimmering way.
The Twilight lifts, then lays aside;
And one white star, that tries to hide
Its flower there, reveals a ray;
Where, like to Ruth, dark, dewy-eyed,
Dusk goes her glimmering way.
Then like the state—which went before
Queen Sheba, when, with footsteps slow,
She paced the wise King's portico—
Eastward a light grows, more and more;
And then, a goddess, face aglow,
The moon, at Heaven's door.
Queen Sheba, when, with footsteps slow,
She paced the wise King's portico—
Eastward a light grows, more and more;
And then, a goddess, face aglow,
The moon, at Heaven's door.
| The Poet and Nature and The Morning Road | |