Poetic Interlude #3

High O’er the Mist

High o’er the mist the crimson sun will rise,

And burn off shadows with its fiery staves;

Will kiss the sea that ever glistening sighs,

And bears the golden light upon its waves.

The sleepy land, still in the darkness drowned,

Cradled by the looming stars above,

Sleeps alone in peaceful dreams profound –

For I am waiting lonely for my love.

 

The rosy light will touch benighted fields,

And slip between the branches of the trees;

Transform the leaves ‘to tiny blazing shields

That bristle like an army in the breeze.

Dawn will flood the windows with its rays,

And on the huddled rooftops it will break;

The craftsmen and the farmers start their days –

But I will pace my penance by the lake.

 

And as the shadows lengthen ‘cross the lands,

And cool the grassy meadows through the day,

They mute the ocean’s crashing on the sands,

And draw the fishers home across the bay.

The moon, with gentle light, the valley fills,

And softly silver now the water gleams –

Still I walk unceasing through the hills,

Searching for my love inside my dreams.

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