DAWN.
WHAT was thy dream, sweet Morning? for, behold! Thine eyes are heavy with the balm of night, And, like reluctant lilies, to the light The languid lids of lethargy unfold. Was it the tale of Yesterday retold— An echo wakened from the western height, Where the warm glow of sunset dalliance bright Grew, with the pulse of waning passion, cold? Or was it some heraldic vision grand Of legends that forgotten ages keep In twilight, where the sundering shoals of day Vex the dim sails, unpiloted, of sleep, Till, one by one, the freighting fancies gay, Like bubbles, vanish on the treacherous strand? John B. Tabb.