  Dawn is up at my window, and in the May-tree The finches gossip, and tits, and beautiful sparrows With feathers bright and brown as September hazels. The sunlight is here, filtered through rosy curtains, Docile and disembodied, a ghost of sunlight, A gentle light to greet the dreamer returning. Part the curtains. I give you salutation Day, clear day; let us be friendly fellows. Come.... I hear the Liars about the city. |
|
