 | Under the dawn |  |
6.
Steal on, slow circles of the eddying river,
Climb on, swift prows of sharp ascending boats!
I mark ye, and I mark each straw that floats
Upon the waves, and sun's red rays that quiver
Thro' the dense air of afternoon, and shiver
Across my searching gaze like lustrous motes;
Each item of the view my outlook notes,
From the long hills to flats that ebb for ever.
Climb on, swift prows of sharp ascending boats!
I mark ye, and I mark each straw that floats
Upon the waves, and sun's red rays that quiver
Thro' the dense air of afternoon, and shiver
Across my searching gaze like lustrous motes;
Each item of the view my outlook notes,
From the long hills to flats that ebb for ever.
But now the robe of evening mist descends,
The river groweth darker, and the tides
Are less apparent, as their outset blends
With the green shore's remote inclosing sides,
And with the closing day my spent lyre ends,
And this faint tune its passionate love provides.
The river groweth darker, and the tides
200
With the green shore's remote inclosing sides,
And with the closing day my spent lyre ends,
And this faint tune its passionate love provides.
| Under the dawn | |