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!
Mortimer Collins.