From Dawn to Dream
By George Sterling
Soul of the world! my Paradise and dream!
Now dawn makes all my heart one purest fane
Wherein the marvel of thy face again
Hath glory past the sun's rerisen beam.
Devout and bowed, to thee, adored, supreme,
I make the orison of Love's sweet pain—
A low and incommunicable strain,
Sung by the soul where Love's white altars gleam.
Till evening clasp the world, and shadows dumb
Rebuild the palace of the night, and thou
Turn softly as the twilight to thy rest;
Till on the verge of dream my soul shall come
And lay with sleep my kiss upon thy brow,
As dew that sinks upon a lily's breast.
Carmel.