Morning poems
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Thefts of the Morning
© Edith Matilda Thomas
BIND us the Morning, mother of the stars
And of the winds that usher in the day!
Ere her light fingers slide the eastern bars,
A netted snare before her footsteps lay;
Ere the pale roses of the mist be strown,
Bind us the Morning, and restore our own!
The Windhover
© Govinda Krishna Chettur
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!
Venus in the Garden
© James Weldon Johnson
Snow-white roses, blood-red roses,
In that sweet garden close,
Offered incense to the goddess:
Both the white and the crimson rose.
The Legend of St. Laura
© Thomas Love Peacock
Saint Laura, in her sleep of death,
Preserves beneath the tomb
--'Tis willed where what is willed must be--
In incorruptibility
Her beauty and her bloom.
The King's Anxiety For His Morning Levee
© Confucius
How goes the night? For heavy morning sleep
Ill suits the king who men would loyal keep.
The courtyard, ruddy with the torch's light,
Proclaims unspent the deepest hour of night.
Already near the gate my lords appear;
Their tinkling bells salute my wakeful ear.
A Narrow Girdle Of Rough Stones And Crags,
© William Wordsworth
A narrow girdle of rough stones and crags,
A rude and natural causeway, interposed
Lake Mists
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
AS I gazed on the prospect enchanted,
On waves the sun-glory had kissed,
There slowly swept down from the distance,
The phantom-like bands of the mist.
The Comet
© Albert Durrant Watson
SPECTRAL, mysterious, flame-like thing
Cleaving the western night,
Waking from chrysalis-dream to fling
Out of thy spirit's long chastening
Far-flashing streams of light,
The Borough. Letter III: The Vicar--The Curate
© George Crabbe
THE VICAR.
WHERE ends our chancel in a vaulted space,
Fireflies
© Rabindranath Tagore
My fancies are fireflies,
Specks of living light
twinkling in the dark.
The Stealing Of The Mare - IV
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Said the Narrator:
Now when the Princess Alia had made her petition to the Maker of the Heavens, and her deliverance had been wrought by Abu Zeyd with the slaying of her enemies, and he had said to her, ``Return and say no word of this to thy friends,'' she besought him, saying: ``Nay, but by Him who commandeth all power, I will not return home until thou hast told me of thyself, who thou art and of what tribe and nation of the Arabs.'' But he said to her, ``Know, O Lady, that I am of the race of the Jinns and that our people are indeed Muslims obeying the Lord of the Universe, and I was sent to thee from the land of Syria to deliver thee from that traitor, who was of the children of crime.'' But she answered him, ``Yet are not the Jinns of thy quality. Rather tell me the truth. I adjure thee by Him who created thee and in whose shadow thou didst grow up, and who hath wrought blessings through thy hand.'' And being thus adjured he said, ``O Alia, there were peril for me if I told thee truly all.'' But she answered, ``Be not afraid. Though thou wert the Prince Abu Zeyd himself, the Helali, yet shouldst thou have security, ay, even he that great horseman.'' Then said he to her, ``Stretch forth thy hand that we may make a covenant together, so shall God be our witness.'' And she said, ``As thou wilt.'' Then they made them a covenant together in the name of God the Almighty, and their souls were loosed of their burden. And Abu Zeyd spoke to her and told her all, and said, ``It was indeed none other than I that slew thy uncle, nor came I with a better purpose than to steal away that mare.'' And she said, ``Now is my heart light and my trouble ended, and as for the mare, look for her at my hand and not through another road; for my uncle and my people, are they not at thy disposal? And if there hath been evil how shall we take vengeance now, for I and my wealth and my kindred, all that is mine is thine. And thou shalt not find us niggardly of our kindness to thee, nor shall we refuse thee aught, inasmuch as all that I might do for thee, whether I fast or whether I pray, whether I give or whether I bestow, never might I make up to thee for what I have received at thy hand. Therefore shall there evermore be kindness between us. Ay, and if thou be willing, come thou now to our camp.'' But he said to her, ``O Alia, O fairest lady, know that this I cannot do, this I desire not.'' And when Alia heard this word, it deepened her regard for him, and she praised God who had ordered it that she should meet with one so honourable. And she perceived that to one such as was this brave knight she could entrust her soul and all that was hers. And she entreated him, ``Come with me to the tribe.'' But he, ``Never can I come with thee.'' And still she besought him, saying, ``Know this, O Hejazi Salameh, that I will not leave thee here nor depart from thee. And as to the mare, her will I deliver to thee and whatsoever else thou demandest. Nay, though it were my soul I would not deny it.'' But he answered her, ``My mind is changed about the mare, nor would I now take her, for I fear lest they seeking and not finding her should suspect thee, O Alia, and trouble should come to thee of thy father. And have we not the grey mare of Diab with us, the Shohba, whom we may give to the lady, nor run this great risk for her sake?'' But Alia insisting said, ``Nay, that shall not be, nor care I what may come, not though I should taste of the cup of evil things. But if thou wilt not take the mare, then will I kill her and myself with her, and on thy head be it for her and for me.'' And Abu Zeyd consented, saying: ``I will do what thee seemeth good. So may God prosper thy designing.''
And the Narrator returned to his singing of that which happened between the Princess Alia and the Prince Abu Zeyd.
The Outside Track
© Henry Lawson
But Ill try my luck for a cheque Out Back,
Then a last good-bye to the bush;
For my hearts away on the Outside Track,
On the track of the steerage push.
A Story Of Doom: Book VII.
© Jean Ingelow
But Noah was seen, for he stood up erect,
And leaned on Japhet's hand. Then, after pause,
The Leader said, "My brethren, it were well
(For naught we fear) to let this sorcerer speak."
And they did reach toward the man their staves,
And cry with loud accord, "Hail, sorcerer, hail!"
A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - October
© George MacDonald
1.
REMEMBER, Lord, thou hast not made me good.
The Song Of Hiawatha XIII: Blessing The Cornfields
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Sing, O Song of Hiawatha,
Of the happy days that followed,
