 | Poems by Maurice Thompson |  |
129
A BREATH OF MORN.
Flow in upon my soul, O wind of morn!
Touch me with ancient tenderness and faith,
Thou perfumed waft from fields of blooming corn!
Woo me, lure me from this poisoned shore of Death.
Touch me with ancient tenderness and faith,
Thou perfumed waft from fields of blooming corn!
Woo me, lure me from this poisoned shore of Death.
I hear far voices, sweet as flutes, somewhere,
Calling me into the darkness, and I know
Their soft insidious languor on the air
Comes from the land of burial, damp and low.
Calling me into the darkness, and I know
Their soft insidious languor on the air
Comes from the land of burial, damp and low.
Blow on me, O thou current of sweet youth!
Come back dear days of boyhood and bright dreams:
Arise again, thou white, clear bloom of truth;
Babble once more, O careless morning streams!
Come back dear days of boyhood and bright dreams:
Arise again, thou white, clear bloom of truth;
Babble once more, O careless morning streams!
Kiss me, warm lips of purity and love;
Sing to me, lasses from the meadow lands;
Bind me with blossoms from the sacred grove
Wherein the temple of my childhood stands.
Sing to me, lasses from the meadow lands;
130
Wherein the temple of my childhood stands.
Lo! I am sick to death of Manhood's ways,
And long to be a fighting man no more;
No more for me the clanging iron days;
So let me live my happy maytime o'er.
And long to be a fighting man no more;
No more for me the clanging iron days;
So let me live my happy maytime o'er.
Blow on me, wind, out of the early morn,
And bear away from me the wear and fret;
Bring me the perfume of the blooming corn,
And I will sing through many a springtime yet!
And bear away from me the wear and fret;
Bring me the perfume of the blooming corn,
And I will sing through many a springtime yet!
| Poems by Maurice Thompson | |