Dawn

Richard Watson Gilder (1844–1909)

THE NIGHT was dark, though sometimes a faint star

A little while a little space made bright.

The night was long and like an iron bar

Lay heavy on the land: till o’er the sea

Slowly, within the East, there grew a light

Which half was starlight, and half seemed to be

The herald of a greater. The pale white

Turned slowly to pale rose, and up the height

Of heaven slowly climbed. The gray sea grew

Rose-colored like the sky. A white gull flew

Straight toward the utmost boundary of the East,

Where slowly the rose gathered and increased.

It was as on the opening of a door

By one that in his hand a lamp doth hold,

Whose flame is hidden by the garment’s fold,—

The still air moves, the wide room is less dim.

More bright the East became, the ocean turned

Dark and more dark against the brightening sky,—

Sharper against the sky the long sea line.

The hollows of the breakers on the shore

Were green like leaves whereon no sun doth shine,

Though white the outer branches of the tree.

From rose to red the level heaven burned;

Then sudden, as if a sword fell from on high,

A blade of gold flashed on the horizon’s rim.