The Dark Before Dawn
Oh, mystery of the morning gloam,
Of haunted air, of windless hush!
Oh, wonder of the deepening dome-
Afar, still far, the morning's flush!
My spirit hears, among the spheres,
The round earth's ever-quickening rush!
A single leaf, on yonder tree,
The planet's rush hath felt, hath heard,
And soon all branches whispering be;
That whisper wakes the nested bird-
The song of the thrush, before the blush
Of Dawn, the dreaming world hath stirred!
The old moon withers in the East-
The winds of space may drive her far!
In heaven's chancel waits the priest-
Dawn's pontiff-priest, the morning star!
And yonder, lo! a shafted glow-
The gates of Day-spring fall ajar!
The Young of Spring
There are so many, many young!
So many, in thy world, O Spring,
And scarcely yet they find a tongue,
Their wants to cry, their joys to sing.
There are so many, many young-
Be tender to such tenderness;
And let soft arms be round them flung,
Keep them from blight, from weather stress!
White lambs upon the green-lit sward,
And dappled darlings of the kine-
O Spring, have them in watch and ward
And mother them- for all are thine.
There are so many, many young!
Thine, too, the wild mouse and her brood
Within a last year's bird's-nest swung-
And all shy litters of the wood!
There are so many, many young-
Guard all- guard closeliest this year's nest;
Oh, guard, for Joy, the songs unsung
Within the thrush's speckled breast!
