SUNRISE.
Fresh from a plunge in the sequestered pool,
This bosky hollow holds as in a cup,
And freed from lingering languors of the night,
By the delicious chill of dim-lit depths,
I stand awhile upon its reedy brink,
And with an eager and awakened gaze
Watch how the cloudless morn like some fair flower
Unfolds its splendours.
Autumn's lagging sun
Still lingers to o'ertop the wooded slope
Behind me, leaving undisturbed awhile
The slumb'rous dusk of the beshadowed pool;
But half the bush-grown hill that mounts beyond
Is mellowed with a mantling garb of gold,
And o'er its rock-strewn summit's soaring ridge
Expands the sunlit azure, pale and pure.
A breath of primal freshness seems to stir
In the soft eddies of the morning air,
As if old Earth in some awaking dream
Had won again the gladness of her youth.
Borne from the bush, the wood-dove's crooning note
Hints of a hidden peace surpassing speech,
And the gay pipe and thrill of many a bird
Lends utterance to the joyance of the hour!
O, miracle of morning! ever new,
As on the first sweet dawn in Paradise;
