24
DAWN
I saw fair Fortune, one clear morning, touch
Like the bright-sceptred sun’s first point of scorn,
With slightest finger my full-ripen’d corn.
I glimps’d her beauty: slender was she, such
As the moon’s waning sickle, paled afar,
Or dawn’s faint star-sheaves that scarce vision’d are.
I said, ‘O my life’s crowning queen, for thee
Have I long toiled without repose or rest;
In hope of thee, my harvest heavenly,