GRAY-VESTED Dawn, with flameless, tranquil eye, <br />Cool hands, and dewy lips, is in the sky, <br />A sober nun, with starry rosary. <br /> <br />With eyes downcast and with uplifted palm, <br />She seems to whisper now her silent psalm; <br />Beneath her gaze the sleeping earth is calm. <br /> <br />Her prayer is ended, and she riseth slow, <br />And o'er the hills she quietly doth go, <br />Noiseless and gentle as the midnight snow. <br /> <br />Then suddenly the pale-east blushes red, <br />The flowers to see upraise a sleepy head, <br />The rosy colors deepen, grow, and spread. <br /> <br />A cool breeze whispers: 'She is coming now!' <br />And then the radiant colors burn and glow, <br />The white cast blushes over cheek and brow, <br /> <br />And glorious on the hills the Morning stands, <br />Her saffron hair back-blown from rosy bands, <br />And light and joy and fragrance in her hands. <br /> <br />Her foot has touched the hill-tops, and they shine; <br />She comes,— the willow rustles and the pine; <br />She smiles upon the fields a smile divine, <br /> <br />And all the earth smiles back; from mount to vale, <br />From oak to shuddering grass, from glen to dale, <br />Wet fields and flowers and glistening brooks cry 'Hail!'<br /><br />Emma Lazarus<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/morning-87/
