Morning

It seems that I have wakened far too soon

And tread an alien city lost in sleep.

Against the gentle turquoise of the sky

The distant chimney pots show red, and deep

And black the alley doorways stand.

While cushioned ivy on the pitted wall

Gives back the brightness of the morning sun.

So still the streets, so crystalline the air,

That one would think the earth but newly born

And through the transient curtains of the dawn

The hands of God had set the world's first day.

Only myself and countless quivering window panes

Witness the wondrous beauty of this hour,

When silver cobbles pave the common way

And dreams unnumbered lie

Within each tower of still white stone ..

 

(1943)