Premonition

As when at Mary's voice Elizabeth
Felt in her womb the restlessness of feet
That would outrun delaying birth, and greet
Alike unseen, the Conqueror of Death:
So, at the hour of midnight, wakes a breath
That in the womb of darkness, moves to meet
The soul of Morning, and a silence sweet
As incense tells of one that worshipeth.
Yea; life forever in expectancy
Stands tip-toe on the utmost brink of time,
Hushing the past, and listening to hear
(As poets the inevitable rhyme)
A dream's fulfilment in the echoes clear
That sing the present in futurity.