Page:Poems Greenwell.djvu/61

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
WHEN NIGHT AND MORNING MEET.
49
By waters' fall, or fleet
Wind music, or the bird
Of morn,—these sounds are sweet,
But they were still unheard.

Within the narrow street
I stood beside a bed—
I held a dying head
When the night and morning meet;
And every word was sweet,
Though few the words we said.

And as we talked, dawn drew
To day—the world was fair
In fields afar, I knew;
Yet spoke not to him there
Of how the grasses grew.
Besprent with dew-drops rare.

We spoke not of the sun,
Nor of this green earth fair;
This soul, whose day was done,
Had never claimed its share
In these, and yet its rare
Rich heritage had won.

From the dark and narrow street
Into a world of love
A child was born,—speak low,
Speak reverent, for we know
Not how they speak above,
When the night and morning meet.