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The glimmering low east streaks. The dense clouds part: between Their jagged rents are seen Pale reaches blue and green, As the mirk curtain breaks. Above the shadowy world, Still more and more unfurled, The gathered mists upcurled Like phantoms melt and pass. In clear-obscure revealed, Brown wood, gray stream, dark field: Fresh, healthy odors yield Wet furrows, flowers, and grass. The sudden, splendid gleam Of one thin, golden beam Shoots from the feathered rim Of yon hill crowned with woods. Down its embowered side, As living waters slide, So the great morning tide Follows in sunny floods. From bush and hedge and tree Joy, unrestrained and free, Breaks forth in melody, Twitter and chirp and song: Alive the festal air With gauze-winged creatures fair, That flicker everywhere, Dart, poise, and flash along. The shining mists are gone, Slight films of gold swift-blown Before the strong, bright sun Or the deep-colored sky: A world of life and glow Sparkles and basks below, Where the soft meads a-row, Hoary with dew-fall, lie. Does not the morn break thus, Swift, bright, victorious, With new skies cleared for us, Over the soul storm-tost? Her night was long and deep, Strange visions vexed her sleep, Strange sorrows bade her weep: Her faith in dawn was lost. No halt, no rest for her, The immortal wanderer From sphere to higher sphere, Toward the pure source of day. The new light shames her fears, Her faithlessness, her tears, As the new sun appears To light her godlike way. SAINT ROMUALDO. I give God thanks that I, a lean old man, Wrinkled, infirm, and crippled with keen pains By austere penance and continuous toil, Now rest in spirit, and possess "the peace Which passeth understanding." Th' end draws nigh, Though the beginning is yesterday, And a broad lifetime spreads 'twixt this and that-- A favored life, though outwardly the butt Of ignominy, malice, and affront, Yet lighted from within by the clear star Of a high aim, and graciously prolonged To see at last its utmost goal attained. I speak not of mine Order an
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