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.