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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=518846" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sunrise</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In my sleep I was fain of their fellowship, fain<br>Of the live-oak, the marsh, and the main.<br>The little green leaves would not let me alone in my sleep;<br>Up-breathed from the marshes, a message of range and of sweep,<br>Interwoven with waftures of wild sea-liberties, drifting,<br>Came through the lapped leaves sifting, sifting,<br>Came to the gates of sleep.<br>Then my thoughts, in the dark of the dungeon-keep<br>Of the Castle of Captives hid in the City of Sleep,<br>Upstarted, by twos and by threes assembling:<br>The gates of sleep fell a-trembling<br>Like as the lips of a lady that forth falter `Yes,'<br>Shaken with happiness:<br>The gates of sleep stood wide.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have waked, I have come, my beloved! I might not abide:<br>I have come ere the dawn, O beloved, my live-oaks, to hide<br>In your gospelling glooms, -- to be<br>As a lover in heaven, the marsh my marsh and the sea my sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tell me, sweet burly-bark'd, man-bodied Tree<br>That mine arms in the dark are embracing, dost know<br>From what fount are these tears at thy feet which flow?<br>They rise not from reason, but deeper inconsequent deeps.<br>Reason's not one that weeps.<br>What logic of greeting lies<br>Betwixt dear over-beautiful trees and the rain of the eyes?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O cunning green leaves, little masters! like as ye gloss<br>All the dull-tissued dark with your luminous darks that emboss<br>The vague blackness of night into pattern and plan,<br>So,<br>(But would I could know, but would I could know,)<br>With your question embroid'ring the dark of the question of man, --<br>So, with your silences purfling this silence of man<br>While his cry to the dead for some knowledge is under the ban,<br>Under the ban, --<br>So, ye have wrought me<br>Designs on the night of our knowledge, -- yea, ye have taught me,<br>So,<br>That haply we know somewhat more than we know.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ye lispers, whisperers, singers in storms,<br>Ye consciences murmuring faiths under forms,<br>Ye ministers meet for each passion that grieves,<br>Friendly, sisterly, sweetheart leaves,<br>Oh, rain me down from your darks that contain me<br>Wisdoms ye winnow from winds that pain me, --<br>Sift down tremors of sweet-within-sweet<br>That advise me of more than they bring, -- repeat<br>Me the woods-smell that swiftly but now brought breath<br>From the heaven-side bank of the river of death, --<br>Teach me the terms of silence, -- preach me<br>The passion of patience, -- sift me, -- impeach me, --<br>And there, oh there<br>As ye hang with your myriad palms upturned in the air,<br>Pray me a myriad prayer.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My gossip, the owl, -- is it thou<br>That out of the leaves of the low-hanging bough,<br>As I pass to the beach, art stirred?<br>Dumb woods, have ye uttered a bird?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Reverend Marsh, low-couched along the sea,<br>Old chemist, rapt in alchemy,<br>Distilling silence, -- lo,<br>That which our father-age had died to know --<br>The menstruum that dissolves all matter -- thou<br>Hast found it: for this silence, filling now<br>The globed clarity of receiving space,<br>This solves us all: man, matter, doubt, disgrace,<br>Death, love, sin, sanity,<br>Must in yon silence' clear solution lie.<br>Too clear! That crystal nothing who'll peruse?<br>The blackest night could bring us brighter news.<br>Yet precious qualities of silence haunt<br>Round these vast margins, ministrant.<br>Oh, if thy soul's at latter gasp for space,<br>With trying to breathe no bigger than thy race<br>Just to be fellow'd, when that thou hast found<br>No man with room, or grace enough of bound<br>To entertain that New thou tell'st, thou art, --<br>'Tis here, 'tis here thou canst unhand thy heart<br>And breathe it free, and breathe it free,<br>By rangy marsh, in lone sea-liberty.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The tide's at full: the marsh with flooded streams<br>Glimmers, a limpid labyrinth of dreams.<br>Each winding creek in grave entrancement lies<br>A rhapsody of morning-stars. The skies<br>Shine scant with one forked galaxy, --<br>The marsh brags ten: looped on his breast they lie.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, what if a sound should be made!<br>Oh, what if a bound should be laid<br>To this bow-and-string tension of beauty and silence a-spring, --<br>To the bend of beauty the bow, or the hold of silence the string!<br>I fear me, I fear me yon dome of diaphanous gleam<br>Will break as a bubble o'er-blown in a dream, --<br>Yon dome of too-tenuous tissues of space and of night,<br>Over-weighted with stars, over-freighted with light,<br>Over-sated with beauty and silence, will seem<br>But a bubble that broke in a dream,<br>If a bound of degree to this grace be laid,<br>Or a sound or a motion made.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But no: it is made: list! somewhere, -- mystery, where?<br>In the leaves? in the air?<br>In my heart? is a motion made:<br>'Tis a motion of dawn, like a flicker of shade on shade.<br>In the leaves 'tis palpable: low multitudinous stirring<br>Upwinds through the woods; the little ones, softly conferring,<br>Have settled my lord's to be looked for; so; they are still;<br>But the air and my heart and the earth are a-thrill, --<br>And look where the wild duck sails round the bend of the river, --<br>And look where a passionate shiver<br>Expectant is bending the blades<br>Of the marsh-grass in serial shimmers and shades, --<br>And invisible wings, fast fleeting, fast fleeting,<br>Are beating<br>The dark overhead as my heart beats, -- and steady and free<br>Is the ebb-tide flowing from marsh to sea --<br>(Run home, little streams,<br>With your lapfulls of stars and dreams), --<br>And a sailor unseen is hoisting a-peak,<br>For list, down the inshore curve of the creek<br>How merrily flutters the sail, --<br>And lo, in the East! Will the East unveil?<br>The East is unveiled, the East hath confessed<br>A flush: 'tis dead; 'tis alive: 'tis dead, ere the West<br>Was aware of it: nay, 'tis abiding, 'tis unwithdrawn:<br>Have a care, sweet Heaven! 'Tis Dawn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now a dream of a flame through that dream of a flush is uprolled:<br>To the zenith ascending, a dome of undazzling gold<br>Is builded, in shape as a bee-hive, from out of the sea:<br>The hive is of gold undazzling, but oh, the Bee,<br>The star-fed Bee, the build-fire Bee,<br>Of dazzling gold is the great Sun-Bee<br>That shall flash from the hive-hole over the sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet now the dew-drop, now the morning gray,<br>Shall live their little lucid sober day<br>Ere with the sun their souls exhale away.<br>Now in each pettiest personal sphere of dew<br>The summ'd morn shines complete as in the blue<br>Big dew-drop of all heaven: with these lit shrines<br>O'er-silvered to the farthest sea-confines,<br>The sacramental marsh one pious plain<br>Of worship lies. Peace to the ante-reign<br>Of Mary Morning, blissful mother mild,<br>Minded of nought but peace, and of a child.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not slower than Majesty moves, for a mean and a measure<br>Of motion, -- not faster than dateless Olympian leisure<br>Might pace with unblown ample garments from pleasure to pleasure, --<br>The wave-serrate sea-rim sinks unjarring, unreeling,<br>Forever revealing, revealing, revealing,<br>Edgewise, bladewise, halfwise, wholewise, -- 'tis done!<br>Good-morrow, lord Sun!<br>With several voice, with ascription one,<br>The woods and the marsh and the sea and my soul<br>Unto thee, whence the glittering stream of all morrows doth roll,<br>Cry good and past-good and most heavenly morrow, lord Sun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O Artisan born in the purple, -- Workman Heat, --<br>Parter of passionate atoms that travail to meet<br>And be mixed in the death-cold oneness, -- innermost Guest<br>At the marriage of elements, -- fellow of publicans, -- blest<br>King in the blouse of flame, that loiterest o'er<br>The idle skies yet laborest fast evermore, --<br>Thou, in the fine forge-thunder, thou, in the beat<br>Of the heart of a man, thou Motive, -- Laborer Heat:<br>Yea, Artist, thou, of whose art yon sea's all news,<br>With his inshore greens and manifold mid-sea blues,<br>Pearl-glint, shell-tint, ancientest perfectest hues<br>Ever shaming the maidens, -- lily and rose<br>Confess thee, and each mild flame that glows<br>In the clarified virginal bosoms of stones that shine,<br>It is thine, it is thine:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou chemist of storms, whether driving the winds a-swirl<br>Or a-flicker the subtiler essences polar that whirl<br>In the magnet earth, -- yea, thou with a storm for a heart,<br>Rent with debate, many-spotted with question, part<br>From part oft sundered, yet ever a globed light,<br>Yet ever the artist, ever more large and bright<br>Than the eye of a man may avail of: -- manifold One,<br>I must pass from thy face, I must pass from the face of the Sun:<br>Old Want is awake and agog, every wrinkle a-frown;<br>The worker must pass to his work in the terrible town:<br>But I fear not, nay, and I fear not the thing to be done;<br>I am strong with the strength of my lord the Sun:<br>How dark, how dark soever the race that must needs be run,<br>I am lit with the Sun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, never the mast-high run of the seas<br>Of traffic shall hide thee,<br>Never the hell-colored smoke of the factories<br>Hide thee,<br>Never the reek of the time's fen-politics<br>Hide thee,<br>And ever my heart through the night shall with knowledge abide thee,<br>And ever by day shall my spirit, as one that hath tried thee,<br>Labor, at leisure, in art, -- till yonder beside thee<br>My soul shall float, friend Sun,<br>The day being done.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Sidney+Lanier">Sidney Lanier</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=518846" data-title="Sunrise de Sidney Lanier" data-description="In my sleep I was fain of their fellowship, fain
Of the live-oak, the marsh, and the main.
The little green leaves would not let me alone in my sleep;
Up-breathed from the marshes, a message of range and of sweep,
Interwoven with waftures of wild ..."></div>
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