Image for Forder
Queer dawn whose birdsong is this "tink tink"
of rocket-metal cooling
on some planet remote as
this broken radiator
coming back on.
Dikt om temaet: dawn
Dikt om temaet «dawn» på Poets.by.
The Tropic Dawn
The tropic dawn is beautiful at sea,
The clouds respond so readily to light.
Though overhead the stars continue bright
And scattered like a broken string of beads,
The eastward doors of night are opened wide
And light floods all the ocean floor inside.
The sun gets up, a painter out of bed,
To work again his canvas of the world,
To change black water into blue instead,
To tint what little frantic foam gets hurled
From two waves’ temperaments with ruby fire,
And make the sea a thing for man’s desire.
The day comes gently, working through the clouds,
Which light and burn with brilliance many-hued.
A sailor somewhere singing in the shrouds
With naked chest and feet and arms tattooed,
Nothing Gold Can Stay
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
The Valley’s Singing Day
The sound of the closing outside door was all.
You made no sound in the grass with your footfall,
As far as you went from the door, which was not far;
But you had awakened under the morning star
The first song-bird that awakened all the rest.
He could have slept but a moment more at best.
Already determined dawn began to lay
In place across a cloud the slender ray
For prying beneath and forcing the lids of sight,
And loosing the pent-up music of over-night.
But dawn was not to begin their ‘pearly-pearly’
(By which they mean the rain is pearls so early,
Before it changes to diamonds in the sun),
Neither was song that day to be self-begun.
You had begun it, and if there needed proof--
Dawn in Omotesando
Six a.m.
loud grandfather
clock in your six-mat room
always 45 minutes off
always very loud
this sleeplessness
while you sleep
through.
Thirty
Once we had made up
our minds that you
should leave at morning —
we each in our way
prayed dawn should never
come.
The Robin's Dawn Song
If you haven't heard the robin's dawn song
You're a poorer man than you ought to be.
Up early once, by a small factory
Alongside which an elm tree was growing
Vibrantly in one of its early springs
With about two hundred heart-shaped leaves
Green as if it had just invented them;
I heard and saw a robin in the tree
Emit I'll swear in one protracted chord
With not a one I could label discord,
A note for every new leaf on that tree,
As if each leaf issued another leaf
Of spiritual stuff, metallic as well;
Brilliantly shone, etched with one perfect word.
Come to Me
Come to me
before the dawn
dims the stars.
The same wave
that washes
the clouds
moves in your
fluttering breath.
Let me see the
play of shadows
on your breasts.
Let me part the rose
that roots
in your heart.
Let me bathe
in the warm sound
The Salt Stone
I have licked
the salt stone.
Run mad
as a mushroom cap
bobbing in the rapids
of a dark stream.
Leapt up
the oak ladder
to circle the
crescent moon.
The wind
lies languid
in the ivory caves
of your
morning
mouth.
Anecdote of Canna
Huge are the canna in the dreams of
X, the mighty thought, the mighty man.
They fill the terrace of his capitol.
His thought sleeps not. Yet thought that wakes
In sleep may never meet another thought
Or thing.... Now day-break comes....
X promenades the dewy stones,
Observes the canna with a clinging eye,
Observes and then continues to observe.
The Dawn
I would be ignorant as the dawn
That has looked down
On that old queen measuring a town
With the pin of a brooch,
Or on the withered men that saw
From their pedantic Babylon
The careless planets in their courses,
The stars fade out where the moon comes,
And took their tablets and did sums;
I would be ignorant as the dawn
That merely stood, rocking the glittering coach
Above the cloudy shoulders of the horses;
I would be--for no knowledge is worth a straw--
Ignorant and wanton as the dawn.
Transience
Nay, do not grieve tho' life be full of sadness,
Dawn will not veil her splendour for your grief.
Nor spring deny their bright, appointed beauty
To lotus blossom and ashoka leaf.
Nay, do not pine, tho' life be dark with trouble.
Time will not pause or tarry on his way ;
To-day that seems so long, so strange, so bitter.
Will soon be some forgotten yesterday.
Nay, do not weep ; new hopes, new dreams, new faces,
The unspent joy of all the unborn years.
Will prove your heart a traitor to its sorrow.
And make your eyes unfaithful to their tears.