SUNRISE 1 In my sleep I was fain of their fellowship, fain Of the live-oak, the marsh, and the main. The little green leaves would not let me alone in my sleep; Up-breathed from the marshes, a message of range and of sweep, Interwoven with waftures of wild sealiberties, drifting, Came through the lapped leaves sifting, sifting, Came to the gates of sleep. Then my thoughts, in the dark of the dungeon-keep Of the Castle of Captives hid in the City of Sleep, Upstarted, by twos and by threes assembling: 10 From what fount are these tears at thy feet which flow? They rise not from reason, but deeper inconsequent deeps. Reason 's not one that weeps. 1 Sunrise,' Mr. Lanier's latest completed poem, was written while his sun of life seemed fairly at the setting, and the hand which first pencilled its lines had not strength to carry nourishment to the lips.. Sunrise,' the culminating poem, the highest vision of Sidney Lanier, was dedicated through his latest request to that friend who indeed came into his life only near its close, yet was at first meeting recognized by the poet as the father of his spirit,' George Westfeldt. When words were very few and the poem was unread, even by any friend, the earnest bidding came: Send him my "Sunrise," that he may know how entirely we are one in thought.' (Poems, 1884.) Ye ministers meet for each paston that grieves, Friendly, sisterly, sweetheart leaves, Oh, rain me down from your darks that contain me Wisdoms ye winnow from winds that pain But no: it is made: list! somewhere,mystery, where? In the leaves? in the air? In my heart? is a motion made: "T is a motion of dawn, like a flicker of shade on shade. In the leaves 't is palpable: low multitudinous stirring Upwinds through the woods; the little ones, softly conferring, Have settled my lord's to be looked for; so; they are still; But the air and my heart and the earth are a-thrill, And look where the wild duck sails round the bend of the river,— And look where a passionate shiver Of the marsh-grass in serial shimmers and shades, And invisible wings, fast fleeting, fast fleeting, Are beating The dark overhead as my heart beats, and steady and free Is the ebb-tide flowing from marsh to sea (Run home, little streams, With your lapfulls of stars and dreams). And a sailor unseen is hoisting a-peak, For list, down the inshore curve of the creek How merrily flutters the sail, — And lo, in the East! Will the East unveil The East is unveiled, the East hath confessed A flush: 't is dead; 't is alive: 't is dead, ere the West Was aware of it: nay, 't is abiding, 't is unwithdrawn: Have a care, sweet Heaven! "Tis Dawn Now a dream of a flame through that dream of a flush is uprolled⚫ |