IN early morning, when the air Is full of tender prophecy, And rose-hue faint and pearl-mist fair Are hints of splendor yet to be, The lilies open. Gleaming white, Their fluted cups like onyx shine, And golden-hearted, in the light, They hold the summer's rarest wine. Ah, love, what mornings thou and I Once idly drifted through, afloat Among the lilies, with the sky Cloud-curtained o'er our tiny boat! Noon climbed apace with ardent feet; The goblets shut, whose honey-dew Was overbrimmed with subtle sweet While yet the silver dawn was new. The pomp of royal crowning lay On daisied field and dimpling dell; And on the blue hills far away In dazzling waves the glory fell; And, flashing to our measured stroke, The waters seemed a path of gems, Beneath whose clear refraction broke A grove with mirrored fronds and stems. In music on the sparkling shore The plashing ripples fell asleep: We laid aside the dripping oar, For our delight we could not keep. In all the splendor farther on We missed the morning's maiden blush; The soft expectancy was gone,— The brooding haze, the trembling flush. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BALLAD MADE AT THE REQUEST OF HIS MOTHER .. PRAY TO OUR LADY by FRANCOIS VILLON WOMAN'S INCONSTANCY by ROBERT AYTON PASSION'S HOUNDS by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES PARADISE by FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND MORE by ROBERT MORRIS MY SISTER'S SLEEP by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE REFORMER by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |