Ode To Morning

Ode to Morning Yon morning, spellbound mistress of the skies How gently all your feathers move apart How lightly thrill your soft, eternal sighs And feed with hope and mirth my swollen heart How softly sway your tresses of pure gold And glut with wealth the barren, night-sprent glade And plump the crisp, brown hazel shells with beams And cast a light strewn with a cooling shade Athwart the gentle ebbs of oozing streams Once quiet, still unravished yet. How bold Your bubbling swells all cast their glinting charms Across the earth’s soft cheek and softer breast Yon morning, wrap the world within your arms And light each mead with gloried noonday zest And twine with passioned rays the Heaven’s steep And cups of all the gem-encrusted buds And feed the bowers with a web of light And all the clouds with Lord Apollo’s rods Of nascent shine to veer away the night And all the evil spells of its black sleep Return to us, gold morn with aching pride, And wake the spirits of the sleeping clouds, And stir the bees which in the foxgloves hide, And let the bashful roses pry their shrouds To feel upon their breasts the cooling breeze Unfold from out the mountain’s stony rim The rainbows, looming arches, sundry hued Gold morn, when midnight’s sleepy glow shall dim And leas no more shall be by stars bedewed Then glow, until the lark sings with full ease! © 2014 Gleb Zavlanov