  O turquoise morn! Had earth a sorrow? The happy larks, sing they To-day or yesterday, Or some enchanted morrow And winds unborn? To slopes of green, Only the brook can tell— In low, elusive tones On smooth and fluting stones— Where flow the rains that fell By night, unseen. Ghost-moon, what way Wouldst thou be riding? Thou art a flaw! Beyond, I know, the stars are hiding, Ere dusk betray. I would not see; For now the day is new, And now a yellow flow’r Suffices to the hour— That, and a star of dew It hoards for me. |
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