 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
Morning
The light will never open sightless eyes,It comes to those who willingly would see;
And every object, hill, and stream, and skies,
Rejoice within th'encircling line to be;
'Tis day—the field is filled with busy hands,
The shop resounds with noisy workmen's din,
The traveller with his staff all ready stands
His yet unmeasured journey to begin;
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Yet there no eye awaits the crimson morn,
The forge and noisy anvil are at rest,
Nor men nor oxen tread the fields of corn,
Nor pilgrim lifts his staff—it is no day
To those who find on earth a place to stay.
Poem No. 522; late 1838–early 1839
| Jones Very : The Complete Poems | |