Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A SONG FOR WAKING, by GEORGE CABOT LODGE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A SONG FOR WAKING, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Ere the blossom of sun from the mystical bud of the twilight, hugely unfurled
Last Line: And the friendship of god!


Ere the blossom of sun from the mystical bud of the twilight is tenderly, hugely unfurled,
Ere the lion of light from his lair in the womb of the shaken, green
sea-shadows leaps on the world,
Ere the masterful mistress and mother of life is released as a child from the
womb of the night,
Ere the echoing bell of the heavens resounds with the rush of the resonant
pinions of light:

Ere the day is declared and the globes of the dew are filled full of the
splendor of opal and pearl,
Ere the foam-lilies dropped from the lap of the storm are as roses that blush
at the breast of a girl,
Ere the aisles of the forest are heavy with dusk and are sweet with the
murmur and marvel of birds,
Ere the dreams of the slumber of earth are destroyed and she utters her hymn
of ineffable words:

Thro' the drift of the derelict airs, thro' the wind-trodden seas that are
windless and weary with foam,
On the strength of the shouldering tides and the roar of the refluent surge
down the beaches of home,
Comes the dream of the darkness of light, the frail flush of the feet of the
dawn down the ways of the sea,
Thro' the measureless sound of the marching of tides where the steeds of the
tempest rode fiercely and free!

Comes the delicate rapture of crimson as mute and intense as the dream of a
passionate deed,
Comes the miracle faultless as fire and fierce as a heart where desire is sown as a seed,
Comes the glow like a prayer on the lips of a prophet whose eyes are aflame
with the vision of God,
Comes the flush like the solemn delight of the love that can waken a soul in
the brute or the clod.

And the silence is rich with the promise of song as the face of a child in
the stillness of sleep,
And the pause of the perfect fulfillment is grave as a death on the midnight
when summer is deep,
And the joy is the joy of a woman, her love and the light of her face
and the sound of her feet.
And the calm is profound as the calm of a soul risen freely from life with
his knowledge complete.

Over exquisite wind-dappled meadows that cover the foot and are fresh as a
night in the fall,
Where the airs scarce remember the rage of the tempest and darkness is deep
round the world like a wall,
Let us forth, ere the skies are washed empty of stars as the wind-rippled
floods of the day-spring run free,
Let us forth where the welkin is stately with sound and the headlands are
held in the cleave of the sea!

Let us leap from the scattered sweet shadows of slumber and venture our
lives on the charger of youth,
While the sunrise is closed as the lips of a girl ere the kiss of a lover
has kindled her mouth,
Till the languid, low airs smitten shrill with our passage re-echo the
thunder of hoofs as we ride,
Let us press down the perilous ways of the present our steed tho' he bleed
'neath the rowel of pride!

Let us press in the hidden wet ways of the forest filled full of the shadows
and sounds of the past,
Let us travel the fields by the River of Years till the ways of the waters
are open at last;
And our steed shall be staunch tho' he weary and wince at the spur, tho'
his nostrils are purple with blood,
For the craving of Soul and the power of Love, for the freedom of Faith
and the friendship of God!





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