Days

 I am a Day .
 .
 .

My sky is grey,
My wind is wild,
My sea high-piled:
In year of days the first
In misery .
 .
 .
 
Oh pity me!
I am a Day
 Accurst.


"Sweet Day, not curst but blest:
Behold upon my breast
My baby born
Your early morn.

Safe in my arms alway .
 .
 .

Oh precious Day,
let tempest be,
You are to me
In heart of mine
 Divine.
"

 * * * * * * *

I am a Day .
 .
 .

From dawn's pure ray
Like to a peerless gem
In summer's diadem,
My sky so softly dreams,
my breeze is bland:
My sea is blue and creams
Upon the sand,
Behold! Of days the Queen
 I reign serene.


"Oh Day, not blest but curst!
Let savage storm-rack burst,
i will not care .
 .
 .

For Lo! I bear
My baby's coffin to the height.

Ah! Would it were the foulest night
To match my mood''s
Ingratitude.

I cannot not pray .
 .
 .

Go your fell way,
 Accursed Day!"

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