 | Fand and Other Poems |  |
37
MORNING.
O Love! I met thee in the morn
As pure and fresh as morning's ray,
Through summer's day my guide to be;
And morning grew to stainless noon,
In summer's noon how sweet the shade!
Yet if the airs were fierce or cool,
I asked not; thou wert morn to me.
As pure and fresh as morning's ray,
Through summer's day my guide to be;
And morning grew to stainless noon,
In summer's noon how sweet the shade!
Yet if the airs were fierce or cool,
I asked not; thou wert morn to me.
The hours go by and daylight flies,
And dreary night soon comes, they say;
For some there is a sunset bright:
But who at night remembers noon,
Whose fervid touch made ripe the corn?
How much more shall the hurrying flight
Of eager hours forget the morn!
And dreary night soon comes, they say;
For some there is a sunset bright:
But who at night remembers noon,
Whose fervid touch made ripe the corn?
How much more shall the hurrying flight
Of eager hours forget the morn!
Though noon for others lead to night,
And age of many a night is born,
From that grey yoke my head is free:
Never for me the night arrives:
The fervid noon is as the morn;
And youth with morning still abides,
The morning thou dost make for me.
And age of many a night is born,
From that grey yoke my head is free:
Never for me the night arrives:
The fervid noon is as the morn;
And youth with morning still abides,
The morning thou dost make for me.
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