A blush of salmon breathes along
The low, unwearied eastern night
And fades with light incipient.
Now stir some brother glints of gold
Alurk in dewy stars, and still
Amid the silken veils of night,
Which hang in wraiths of sleepiness
And lap the inner lands of mind
Through all the wide, the silent world.
Oh, look ! Some birds make seaward flight,
Go breasting swift and mightily,
And turn not backward to the land.
Oh, look ! Their wings beat up the dark,
And flash with fires invisible.
Oh, look ! Athwart the shrinking dome
Apollo streams his flaming hair
In horizontal waves of light,
Ethereal patterns of the day.
Arthur Wilson.
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