MORNING

A flower of light is unfolding, its petals are morning,
Misty winds whisper like silks in the stir of the day,
Dew-bedight spider webs glisten with diamonds adorning;
The dawn like an arrow has levelled its ray
Fugitive shadows run melting away
And the swallow of summer returns to the meadows of May.

The dawn falls dappled around me through
The trees like fountains of green,
And one more morning has found me, amused
And amazed by what living may mean;
And yolk-yellow sunlight is swirling from
The broken blue shell of the sky -
But shadows of doubt are still whirling: Is meaning
And truth in the world, or my eye?

Below me the indigo valley lies hazily warming,
From far misty distance the blue-silver bells echo near,
The high mazey bird catches fire in its lazy performing
As the sun in gold armour resplendent appears
To scatter the shades with his radiant spears -
Though assassins are scheming to turn the king's beaming to tears.

And southward the glittering ocean holds
A promise of silver and gold;
And the river's meandering motion reminds me
No child ever plans to grow old,
For the sun warms the stones of the river and
It honeys the green of the lea -
But nothing can flow on forever, and everything
Feeds the dark night of the sea.

Ah the life of a man is a road that is never returning,
It follows the westering sun to the end of the day,
And should he look over his shoulder his bridges are burning;
And each follows onward his predestined way,
His eye never wanders, his feet never stray
From the path through the dark in part fortune cast him to play.

And at night when the road through the valley
Unrolls like a ribbon of stars
To the sodium glow of the city (strange
To me now as a city on Mars),
And the moon pours light on the meadows from
Her chalice of quicksilver fire,
No neon assylum from shadows can banish
Your fear of the shadow you are.