It is the hour when Night, disconsolate,
And weary of the unimagined state
She holds in hidden places far away.
Thinks with new longing of her wayward mate,
And yearns toward the singing, young-eyed Day.
She brings him the eternal stars for crown.
And woven webs of dreams no man has known.
And scented silences, and shadows deep;
And tries with music, where the streams run down,
To win him to her ere he fall asleep.
But Day in dreams heard Echo on the hill.
Singing and calling from the summit still,
Singing and calling on a silver note,
Singing and calling on a silver note,
Till through the air his spirit seemed to float,
Rising and falling on a silver note.
Questing he bears his sword across the sky,
Seeking for her who charmed him with a cry,
A silver calling from a dreamland peak;
Till, finding not, he takes the West to die
And will not wait to hear what Night shall speak.
And Night sits listening where the slow rain sings,
Dreaming that Day once more a garland brings
And comes in state his once belov’d to greet,
Filling the East with splendour of great wings.
To lay his crown at her forgotten feet.
(Ethel Clifford)
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Based on Topics: Night Poems, Dreams Poems, Cry Poems, Speaking Poems, Eternity Poems, Music Poems, Silver Poems, Singing Poems, Dreaming PoemsBased on Keywords: young-eyed