Supreme through all the hours of the day
I hold one sweetest: not the day or hour,
Dear, when you came to me; nor yet the flower
Of perfect days, though that is sweet alway,
When your love came to me; I cannot say
Why these are not divinest in their power;
Yet as each new day comes, it brings for dower
One moment whose rich gladness will outweigh
All others: that first moment when the night
Yields to the daylight’s clear and vivid blue;
And waking to things real from things that seem,
My eager eyes unclose to the fair light,
Still undeceived; to find their visions true,
And that your love for me was not my dream.