When in clear June the sun spreads on the sea
His first long fingers, rising from his sleep,
The bollards grow with warm expectancy
And window panes glow flaming red,
And up the sinuous channel creep
The wakening rays;
Rousing the worker from his groaning bed.
Seagulls ecstatic sweep
And yachts move restlessly upon the tide,
Feeling within their timbers all the urge
To woo the morning breeze,
And life to swing away upon the surge
Of heaving ocean.
And old men scan with pensive gaze
The far horizon, seeing other days
When mornings were yet new
And virginal as any maiden bride,
With trembling tears of dew,
And all the spinning globe but lately set in motion.
Tinged by the candid sunshine,
Swim like slow swans that on the river float,
Dreamlike, inconsequential, and remote,
Mute, and still beautiful, and serpentine.
And all the mornings that have ever sung
Proclaim the truth that life is young !
Mona’s Herald 6.11.62