 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
The Clouded Morning
The morning comes; and thickening fogs prevail,Hanging like curtains all the horizon round;
And o'er the head in heavy stillness sad;
So still is day, it seems like night profound;
But see! the mists are stirring, rays of light
Pierce through the haze as struggling to be free,
The circle round grows every moment bright,
The sun is breaking forth, 'tis he, 'tis he;
Quick from before him flies each sluggish cloud,
His rays have touched the stream, have climbed the hill;
The sounds of life increase, all blending loud;
The hum of men, nor smallest thing is still;
But all have found a voice, and hail their king,
The words of man's high praise, and bird with fluttering wing.
Poem No. 530; summer–fall 1839
| Jones Very : The Complete Poems | |