Читать книгу The Garden of Dreams - Cawein Madison Julius - Страница 10

I hear a song the wet leaves lisp

When Morn comes down the woodland way;

And misty as a thistle-wisp

Her gown gleams windy gray;

A song, that seems to say,

"Awake! 'tis day!"

I hear a sigh, when Day sits down

Beside the sunlight-lulled lagoon;

While on her glistening hair and gown

The rose of rest is strewn;

A sigh, that seems to croon,

"Come sleep! 'tis noon!"

I hear a whisper, when the stars,

Upon some evening-purpled height,

Crown the dead Day with nenuphars

Of dreamy gold and white;

A voice, that seems t' invite,

"Come love! 'tis night!"

Before the rathe song-sparrow sings

Among the hawtrees in the lane,

And to the wind the locust flings

Its early clusters fresh with rain;

Beyond the morning-star, that swings

Its rose of fire above the spire,

Between the morning's watchet wings,

A voice that rings o'er brooks and boughs —

"Arouse! arouse!"

Before the first brown owlet cries

Among the grape-vines on the hill,

And in the dam with half-shut eyes

The lilies rock above the mill;

Beyond the oblong moon, that flies

Its pearly flower above the tower,

Between the twilight's primrose skies,

A voice that sighs from east to west —

"To rest! to rest!"