  S Supreme through all the hours of the day I hold one sweetest: not the day or hour, Dear, when you came to me; nor yet the flower Of perfect days, though that is sweet alway, When your love came to me; I cannot say Why these are not divinest in their power; Yet as each new day comes, it brings for dower One moment whose rich gladness will outweigh All others: that first moment when the night Yields to the daylight’s clear and vivid blue; And waking to things real from things that seem, My eager eyes unclose to the fair light, Still undeceived; to find their visions true, |
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