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By one who in his hand a lamp doth hold
More bright the East became, the ocean turned
Richard Watson Gilder (1844-1909]
DAWN ON THE HEADLAND DAWN—and a magical stillness: on earth, quiescence pro
found; On the waters a vast Content, as of hunger appeased and
stayed; In the heavens a silence that seems not mere privation of
sound, But a thing with form and body, a thing to be touched
and weighed! Yet I know that I dwell in the midst of the roar of the
cosmic wheel, In the hot collision of Forces, and clangor of boundless
Strife, Mid the sound of the speed of the worlds, the rushing
worlds, and the peal Of the thunder of Life.
William Watson (1858–
THE MIRACLE OF THE DAWN
WHAT would it mean for you and me
If dawn should come no more!
Its rose above the shore!
Our souls bow down before.
What wonder that the Inca kneeled,
The Aztec prayed and pled And sacrificed to it, and sealed,
With rites that long are dead, The marvels that it once revealed
To them it comforted.
What wonder, yea! what awe, behold!
What rapture and what tears
That now each day appears, –
Once every thousand years!
To see it even as God
When Light rose, earthquake-shod,
O’er deeps the whirlwind trod. What shoutings then and cymballings
Arose from depth and height!
And thunders, burning-white,
Of Earth received the Light.
Think what it meant to see the dawn!
The dawn, that comes each day!What if the East should ne'er grow wan,
Should nevermore grow gray! That line of rose no more be drawn Above the ocean's spray!
Madison Cawein (1865-1914)
All night I watched awake for morning,
At last the East grew all a flame,
And with their singing morning came.
Along the gold-green heavens drifted
Pale wandering souls that shun the light,
Had beat the bars of Heaven all night.
A troop of shining spirits went,
But some divine dream-element.
Some held the Light, while those remaining
Shook out their harvest-colored wings,
(Whose sound was Light) on earthly things.
They sang, and as a mighty river
Their voices washed the night away,
A. Mary F. Robinson (1857–
MUSIC OF THE DAWN
AT SEA, OCTOBER 23, 1907
In far forests' leafy twilight, now is stealing gray dawn's
shy light, And the misty air is tremulous with songs of many a bird; While from mountain steeps descending, every streamlet's
voice is blending With the anthems of great pine trees, by the breath of
daylight stirred. But I turn from Fancy's dreaming of the green earth, to the
gleaming Of the fluttering wings of morning rushing o'er the jewelled
deep; And the ocean's rhythmic pounding, with each lucent wave
resounding, Seems the music made when God's own hands His mighty harpstrings sweep.
Virginia Bioren Harrison (18
Rêve du Midi
A SUMMER NOON
Who has not dreamed a world of bliss
William Howitt (1792–1879)
RÊVE DU MIDI
Under the grass;
When soft the shadows lie,
And the idle winds go by,
Then, when the silent stream
Up to the sun;
When the moth forgets to play,
Then, from the noise of war
Dropped from the sky,-
Banish to silence drear,-
Some melancholy gale
With her sighs;
Glories that faded fast,
As poised on vibrant wings,
To the red flowers, —
I linger in delight,
Rose Terry Cooke (1827–1892)