AFTER LEE O. HARRIS <br /> <br />The master-hand whose pencils trace <br />This wondrous landscape of the morn, <br />Is but the sun, whose glowing face <br />Reflects the rapture and the grace <br />Of inspiration Heaven-born. <br /> <br />And yet with vision-dazzled eyes, <br />I see the lotus-lands of old, <br />Where odorous breezes fall and rise, <br />And mountains, peering in the skies, <br />Stand ankle-deep in lakes of gold. <br /> <br />And, spangled with the shine and shade, <br />I see the rivers raveled out <br />In strands of silver, slowly fade <br />In threads of light along the glade <br />Where truant roses hide and pout. <br /> <br />The tamarind on gleaming sands <br />Droops drowsily beneath the heat; <br />And bowed as though aweary, stands <br />The stately palm, with lazy hands <br />That fold their shadows round his feet. <br /> <br />And mistily, as through a veil, <br />I catch the glances of a sea <br />Of sapphire, dimpled with a gale <br />Toward Colch's blowing, where the sail <br />Of Jason's Argo beckons me. <br /> <br />And gazing on and farther yet, <br />I see the isles enchanted, bright <br />With fretted spire and parapet, <br />And gilded mosque and minaret, <br />That glitter in the crimson light. <br /> <br />But as I gaze, the city's walls <br />Are keenly smitten with a gleam <br />Of pallid splendor, that appalls <br />The fancy as the ruin falls <br />In ashen embers of a dream. <br /> <br />Yet over all the waking earth <br />The tears of night are brushed away, <br />And eyes are lit with love and mirth, <br />And benisons of richest worth <br />Go up to bless the new-born day.<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-summer-sunrise/
