Dawn
The soft-toned clock upon the stair chimed three—
Too sweet for
sleep, too early yet to rise.
In restful peace I
lay with half-closed eyes,
Watching the tender hours go dreamily;
The tide was flowing in; I heard the sea
Shivering along the
sands; while yet the skies
Were dim,
uncertain, as the light that lies
Beneath the fretwork of some wild-rose tree
Within the thicket gray. The chanticleer
Sent drowsy calls
across the slumbrous air;
In solemn silence
sweet it was to hear
My own heart beat . . . Then broad and deep and fair—
Trembling in its
new birth from heaven’s womb—
One crimson shaft
of dawn sank thro’ my room.
Ella Higginson
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