A smooth calm sweeps
The warm-waking world
Come hither, glad day
With new joys unfurled
For lo; soon twilight creeps
Over the western steeps
And blue shadows of dusk
The heavens salute
Lo! From the depths
Of woven dirt
With joyful thought
Its lays assert
To softly tease the Day;
And smooth the night awry
They make glad the slumb’ring
breeze
And with its mirth ally
Comrade from the deep
Laughing in bliss-pink
Before dawn we tiptoe
Toward earth’s brink
Embracing the mystic east
We drink its celestial feast
Brimming with dark heart-sorrow
And yesterday's tomorrow
Janet~
An opposite poem to
Mad Song by William Blake
THE wild winds weep,
And the night is a-cold;
Come hither, Sleep,
And my griefs enfold! . . .
But lo! the morning peeps
Over the eastern steeps,
And the rustling beds of dawn
The earth do scorn.
Lo! to the vault
Of pavèd heaven,
With sorrow fraught,
My notes are driven:
They strike the ear of Night,
Make weak the eyes of Day;
They make mad the roaring winds,
And with the tempests play,
Like a fiend in a cloud,
With howling woe
After night I do crowd
And with night will go;
I turn my back to the east
From whence comforts have
increased;
For light doth seize my brain
With frantic pain.
