Early in the morning,
Early in the dew,
Singing from the mountains
Where the dreams withdrew,
Lingered one I knew.
‘Soul, art thou so shining?
What is there to tell?
Whither hast thou journeyed?’
And the answer fell,
‘Early to the well.
‘Early, early, early,
To the farthest light;
Drinking, singing, bathing
In the cool, the might,
Whence I have my sight.
‘There I found my sandals
Gladdened with a wing;
And my fair apparel
Woven out of Spring.
Therefore do I sing.’
And the golden voices
Warming with the sun,
Dimmed the silver voices,
Fading, one by one.
And the dream was done.