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?
On day’s blue diamond
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.