II
Then out of the splendor and richness, that burned like a magic stone,
The torrent suffusion that deepened and dazzled and broadened and shone,
The pomp and the pageant of color, triumphal procession of glare,
The sun, like a king in armor, breathing splendor from feet to hair,
Stood forth with majesty girdled, as a hero who towers afar
Where the bannered gates are bristling hells and the walls are roaring war:
And broad on the back of the world, like a Cherubin’s fiery blade,
The effulgent gaze of his aspect fell in glittering accolade.
III
Then billowing blue, like an ocean, rolled from the shores of dawn to even:
And the stars like rafts went down; and the moon, like a ghost-ship driven,
A feather of foam, from port to port of the cloud-built isles that dotted,
With pearl and cameo, bays of the day,—her canvas webbed and rotted,—
Lay lost in the gulf of heaven; while over her mixed and melted
The beautiful children of Morn, whose bodies are opal-belted;
The beautiful daughters of Dawn, who, over and under and after
The rivered radiance wrestled; and rainbowed heaven with laughter
Of halcyon sapphire.—O Dawn! thou visible mirth,
Thou hallelujah of heaven! hosanna of Earth!
AT THE LANE’S END
I
No more to strip the roses from
The rose-sprays of her porch’s place!—
I dreamed last night that I was home
Kissing a rose—her face.
I must have smiled in sleep—who knows?—
The rose-aroma filled the lane;
I saw her white hand’s lifted rose
That welcomed home again.