The Dawn

This is the dawn of day, born with the moan Of cries from the old, fading night that goes, And the gold horizon crests in soft light alone, While the winds awake the crown of flowering rose.

Here in the land where daybreak’s bosom lies, The trees stretch high beneath summits of the sun, And the bright air is filled with deep, tender sighs, Culminating destiny savored by everyone.

Come, let us seek, upon this joyful day, The sweet endeavors that nature entwine With whispers of gold and blossoming play. For the dawn of dreams, in hearts, shall shine.

• John Masefield