THE MORNING MOON

'Twas when the op'ning dawn was still, I took my lonely road, up hill, Toward the eastern sky, in gloom,

Or touch'd with palest primrose bloom; And there the moon, at morning break, Though yet unset, was gleaming weak, And fresh'ning air began to pass,

All voiceless, over darksome grass,

Before the sun

Had yet begun

To dazzle down the morning moon.

By Maycreech hillock lay the cows,
Below the ash-trees' nodding boughs,
And water fell, from block to block
Of mossy stone, down Bu ncleeve rock,
By poplar-trees that stood, as slim

'S a feather, by the stream's green brim; And down about the mill, that stood Half darken'd off below the wood,

The rambling brook,

From nook to nook,

Flow'd on below the morning moon.

At mother's house I made a stand,

Where no one stirr'd with foot or hand;
No smoke above the chimney reek'd,
No winch above the well-mouth creak'd;

No casement open'd out, to catch

The air below the eaves of thatch;

Nor down before her cleanly floor

Had open'd back her heavy door;

And there the hatch,

With fasten'd latch,

Stood close, below the morning moon:

And she, dear soul, so good and kind,
Had holden long, in my young mind
Of holy thoughts, the highest place
Of honour, for her love and grace.
But now my wife, to heart and sight,
May seem to shine a fuller light;
And as the sun may rise to view,

To dim the moon, from pale to blue,

My comely bride

May seem to hide

My mother, now my morning moon.

But still 'tis wrong that men should slight,

By day, the midnight's weaker light,

That show'd them, though its gleams were dim,

Where roads had risk of life or limb;

And though the day my wife has made
May shine in joy without a shade,

So long 's my life shall hold in flight,
By sunsped day and moonskied night,
Still never let

My heart forget

My mother, now my morning moon.

JOY PASSING BY

WHEN ice all melted to the sun,
And left the wavy streams to run,
We long'd, as summer came, to roll
In river foam, o'er depth and shoal;
And if we lost our loose-bow'd swing,
We had a kite to pull our string;

Or, if no ball

Would rise or fall

With us, another joy. was nigh

Before our joy all pass'd us by.

If leaves of trees, that wind stripp'd bare

At morning, fly on evening air,

We still look on for summer boughs

To shade again our sunburnt brows,