22
HAWTHORN TIDE
And the kindling desire is one with thanksgiving for utter
fruition of sight,
For sight and for sense of a world that the sun finds
meet for his lyre.
Music made of the morning that smites from the chords
of the mute world song
Trembles and quickens and lightens, unfelt,
unbeholden, unheard,
From blossom on blossom that climbs and exults in the
strength of the sun grown strong,
And answers the word of the wind of the spring with
the sun's own word.
Hard on the skirt of the deep soft copses that spring
refashions,
Triumphs and towers to the height of the crown of a
wildwood tree
One royal hawthorn, sublime and serene as the joy that
impassions
Awe that exults in thanksgiving for sight of the grace
we see,
