Eleanor Farjeon (Элинор Фарджон)
Morning-Vision
A sea that shimmers on the brink of light, Emerging over shadow-boundaries Silverly on a sleeping silver shore: Phantom-land still, still silent mystery, Strewn with wan visions of the fading moon, Whereon the wave that wakens barely breathes. Which gathering soon its sweet surrendering dreams Offers them to the yet invisible fire That sends its fore-glow from below the rim, Till they aspire in little golden vapours And flicker to the pure and passionless skies, The colour of pale melted sapphires--so These driftings of the ocean's moon-trance mount, And through the morning, briefly luminous, Waver, and cease, above a brightening tide. Then lo! the swift shrill flight of sudden gulls, Up-circling whiteness sprayed against the blue, The sweep of silver breasts and wheeling wings That flash across the newly-risen sun And cleaving through the dazzle of the day Vanish like light dissolved in greater light Or music drowned in heavenlier music.
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