From The High Window Of Your Room

From the high window of your room, Above the roofs, and streets, and cries, Lying awake and still, I watch The wonder of the dawn arise.

Slow tips the world's deliberate rim, Descending to the baths of day: Up floats the pure, ethereal tide And floods the outworn dark away.

The city's sprawled, uneasy bulk Illumines slowly in my sight. The crowded roofs, the common walls, The grey streets, melt in mystic light.

It passes. Then, with longing sore For that veiled light of paradise, I turn my face,--and find it in The wonder of your waking eyes.