I AM a confidant at Dawn, An intimate of waking things, A lover of pale, lucent skies, A listener for stirring wings. I am no prisoner of Sleep In that dim hour when the Dawn Bends over and confides in me After her lover, Night, is gone. Strange are the things Dawn tells to me— Pallid, with tear-dew on her cheeks; I may not tell what secret things She whispers to me when she speaks. Only the sinking stars ... the late Wan, wastrel moon ... the waking flowers ... And birds share with the Dawn and me The intimacies of those hours. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET TO A FRIEND WHO ASKED, HOW I FELT ... MY INFANT TO ME by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 35 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN DRIVING HOME THE COWS by KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD THE SWORD by ABU BAKR OF MARRAKESH FRONT LINE by WILLIAM ROSE BENET LOST BUT FOUND by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR |