At night the wide and level stretch of wold, <br />Which at high noon had basked in quiet gold, <br />Far as the eye could see was ghostly white; <br />Dark was the night save for the snow's weird light. <br /> <br />I drew the shades far down, crept into bed; <br />Hearing the cold wind moaning overhead <br />Through the sad pines, my soul, catching its pain, <br />Went sorrowing with it across the plain. <br /> <br />At dawn, behold! the pall of night was gone, <br />Save where a few shrubs melancholy, lone, <br />Detained a fragile shadow. Golden-lipped <br />The laughing grasses heaven's sweet wine sipped. <br /> <br />The sun rose smiling o'er the river's breast, <br />And my soul, by his happy spirit blest, <br />Soared like a bird to greet him in the sky, <br />And drew out of his heart Eternity.<br /><br />Claude McKay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/morning-joy/
