Dawn

Dawn, with flusht foot upon the mountain tops, Stands beckoning to the Sun-god’s golden car, While on her high clear brow the morning star Grows fainter, as the silver-misty copse And rosy river-bend and village white Feel the strong shafts of light.

The tide of dreams has reached its utter ebb; The joy of Dawn is in my Lady’s eyes, Where at her window with a half-surprise She sees the meadows meshed with fairy web, And hears the happy skylark, far above, Singing, I live! I love!