As when the tideless, barren waters lay
About the borders of the early earth;
And small, unopened buds dreamt not the worth
Of their incomparable gold array;
And tall young hemlocks were not set a-sway
By any wind; and orchards knew no mirth
At Autumn time, nor plenteousness from dearth;
And night and morning, then, were the first day,
—Even so was I. Yet, as I slept last night,
My soul surged towards thy love’s controlling power;
And, quickened now with the sun’s splendid might,
Breaks into unimaginable flower,
Knowing thy soul knows this for beacon-light—
The culmination of the harvest hour.
