| |
| WHEN the morning sun | |
| Spills his red lights among the naked trees | |
| And one by one | |
| The hills awaken—and like wind-played seas | |
| Give back the music of the breeze, | 5 |
| When among film and tracery of boughs | |
| Stripped by the winter’s teeth, | |
| Green glow the sun-filled pines—O man, unhouse | |
| Your head of human walls—get from beneath | |
| Shut ceilings—let the skies take off the roof | 10 |
| Of your small room—and into the Park at seven | |
| Go with tremendous stride— | |
| Earth there is open wide | |
| To the sun and the wind and the amplitude of heaven! | |
| |
| That Child, the World, from out the infinite night | 15 |
| Draws through the dark | |
| Into the light— | |
| And all the sacred mystery of Birth | |
| Hovers on the Earth— | |
| Even in the pale of the man-gardened Park | 20 |
| The mystery of Morn, the beauty and the splendor | |
| Through the groves are slipping, from the boughs are dripping, | |
| A miracle without us, | |
| That yet the heart’s core owns!— | |
| Chant there the pebble-tripped waters shut in stones, | 25 |
| Sparrows are over the turf chirping and tripping, | |
| And Man’s World sings in a swinging circle about us! | |
| |
| O film of ice skimming the crystal pool! | |
| See how it flashes in the wintry sun! | |
| And hear the water splash!—how clean! how cool! | 30 |
| And behold how visible, yea, on every one, | |
| The silences of enormous centuries, | |
| Brood on the rocks and the unstirring trees! | |
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