Ray, H. Cordelia
|ROSARY OF FANCIES|
Fair Morn unbars her gates of gold;
Night's shadows lie, a thousand fold,
Upon the hills, the purple mist
By pure Aurora's radiance kissed,
Becomes a dream of color: now
Uplift the heart and bare the brow.
Such moments for us seem to weave
Hope's loveliest tissues; we perceive
The soul's illumination, caught
From some fair mood of Nature fraught
With harmony of sight and sound,
In majesty diffused around.