TWO VISIONS.
A vision of Morn,—the dew’s on the grass,
The ocean’s aflame, and a sweet fisher-lass
On its bosom’s unrest is afloat;
The sunlight is fair on her shy, upturned face,
As she dips the bright oars with the daintiest grace,
And the prow of her snowy-white boat
Its way urges softly through each foaming crest,
Like sea-bird, wings fluttering, closing to rest;
In her eyes shines the light of the glad day, new-born,—
The pure, gentle Spirit of Morn.
A Vision of Night,—the silvery stars
Alight in the East, ere its golden bars
Have imprisoned the slumberous sun;
The sea hoarsely breathing, the wind all astir,
The sparrow crouched low in the boughs of the fir,
But she, the Beautiful One,
Is awake, oh, awake, with her glorious eyes
Star-lighted and deep as the shadowy skies,
O’er the mist of her draperies, fleecy and white,
The radiant Spirit of Night.