DAY was a full-blown flower in heaven, alive <br />With murmuring joy of bees and birds aswarm, <br />When in the skies of song yet flushed and warm <br />With music where all passion seems to strive <br />For utterance, all things bright and fierce to drive <br />Struggling along the splendour of the storm, <br />Day for an hour put off his fiery form, <br />And golden murmurs from a golden hive <br />Across the strong bright summer wind were heard, <br />And laughter soft as smiles from girls at play <br />And loud from lips of boys brow-bound with May. <br />Our mightiest age let fall its gentlest word, <br />When Song, in semblance of a sweet small bird, <br />Lit fluttering on the light swift hand of Day.<br /><br />Algernon Charles Swinburne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/john-day-xiii/
