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The Dawning

Water lilies float down a silent stream; The watching swamphens and bank willows dream, At the passing of a fragrant blessing, Brought to them by a soft wind caressing. A nestling awakes, – sighs in treetops high. The morning star almost ceases to spy. A sweet silence breathes among the heather, A stillness in leaves gathered together. The twilight branches a glory capture, Held in wondrous suspense, in still rapture. In them a mystery is unravelled; As if I had to all the stars travelled, And listened to old sea shells still unheard. They echo here in the song of a bird The many untold secrets they contain, That’s better than the fall of summer rain In a lost wood, where birds their sweet songs rang, And the angels with pipes tenderly sang. Here I walk in a soft rain awaking; My soul, under bright clouds’ tender weeping; My soul, soft with the dew, – my soul dripping, One with teardrops on leafed trees, glistening; One with the leaves on which they are singing; One with each branch where the leaves are sighing; One with the free air, that’s all pervading. And I gaze to where sunlight is breaking; High treetops are with the sky, lovemaking, And my heart’s there, one with bright clouds, sailing.

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