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| WHEN the rose of Morn through the Dawn was breaking, | |
| And white on the hearth was last night’s flame, | |
| Thither to me ’twixt sleeping and waking, | |
| Singing out of the mists she came. | |
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| And grey as the mists on the spectre meadows | 5 |
| Were the eyes that on my eyes she laid, | |
| And her hair’s red splendor through the shadows | |
| Like to the marsh-fire gleamed and played. | |
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| And she sang of the wondrous far-off places | |
| That a man may only see in dreams, | 10 |
| The death-still, odorous, starlit spaces | |
| Where Time is lost and no life gleams. | |
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| And there till the day had its crest uplifted, | |
| She stood with her still face bent on me, | |
| Then forth with the Dawn departing drifted | 15 |
| Light as a foam-fleck on the sea. | |
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| And now my heart is the heart of a swallow | |
| That here no solace of rest may find, | |
| Forevermore I follow and follow | |
| Her white feet glancing down the wind. | 20 |
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| And forevermore in my ears are ringing— | |
| (Oh, red lips yet shall I kiss you dumb!) | |
| Twain sole words of that May morn’s singing, | |
| Calling to me “Hither”! and “Come”! | |
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| From flower-bright fields to the wild lake-sedges | 25 |
| Crying my steps when the Day has gone, | |
| Till dim and small down the Night’s pale edges | |
| The stars have fluttered one by one. | |
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| And light as the thought of a love forgotten, | |
| The hours skim past, while before me flies | 30 |
| That face of the Sun and Mist begotten, | |
| Its singing lips and death-cold eyes. | |
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