Richard Watson Gilder (Ричард Уотсон Гилдер)
The New Day. Prelude
The night was dark, tho' sometimes a faint star A little while a little space made bright. Dark was the night and like an iron bar Lay heavy on the land—till o'er the sea Slowly, within the East, there grew a light Which half was starlight, and half seemed to be The herald of a greater. The pale white Turned slowly to pale rose, and up the hight Of heaven slowly climbed. The gray sea grew Rose-colored like the sky. A white gull flew Straight toward the utmost boundary of the East Where slowly the rose gathered and increased. There was light now, where all was black before: It was as on the opening of a door By one who in his hand a lamp doth hold (Its flame being hidden by the garment's fold),— The still air moves, the wide room is less dim. More bright the East became, the ocean turned Dark and more dark against the brightening sky— Sharper against the sky the long sea line. The hollows of the breakers on the shore Were green like leaves whereon no sun doth shine, Tho' sunlight make the outer branches hoar. From rose to red the level heaven burned; Then sudden, as if a sword fell from on high, A blade of gold flashed on the ocean's rim.
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