Morning Song

 MORNING SONG by Conrad Aiken (1889-1973) Won the Pulitzer Prize in 1930

 It is morning, and in the morning when the light drips through the shutters like the dew, I arise, I face the sunrise.

 Vine leaves tap my window, dew drops sing to the garden stones, the robin chirps in the  chinaberry tree repeating three clear tones.

 Waves far off in a pale rose twilight crash on a white sand shore. the green earth tilts thru a sphere of air and bathes in a flame of space.

 It is morning, and in the morning should I not pause in the light to remember God?

 He is immense and lonely as a cloud. I will dedicate this moment before my mirror, to Him alone.

 Vine leaves tap my window, the snail-track shines on the stones; Dew drops flash from the chinaberry tree repeating two clear tones.

 It is morning, Shining I rise from the starless waters of sleep.

 The earth revolves with me, yet makes no motion, the stars pale silently in a coral sky.

 There are horses neighing on far off hills tossing their long white manes.

 And mountains flash in the rose-white dusk, their shoulders black with rains.....

 It is morning, I ascend from darkness and depart on the winds of space for I know not where.

 There are shadows across the window, clouds in the heavens, and a God among the stars.

 I will go, thinking of Him as I might think of daybreak.

 Vine leaves tap at the window, dew drops sing to the garden stones, 

 the robin chirps in the chinaberry tree repeating three clear tones.

 From A Treasury of Great Poems, 1942

Photographs 2018