Dawn And Dusk A Wager Made Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

Dawn and Dusk a wager made
As to who would win the Poet’s favor-
They contested together like friends - no envy
Felt they - they are not human.
When Dawn the Poet arisen just
It lightened up the brightness of its flame
Burning like gas self-replenishing
And ever-replenishing its flame:
Bright grew the face of heaven and on Earth
The thrill of happiness rings everywhere:
And to delight him more with magic wand
Without a sound by words known to gods
She to Aeolus called and to her hied
The king of winds in russet baggage clad
Wherein imprisoned winds at will he held.
The which seeing the ardent damsel
The King of Winds asked her, her favor
She with sparkling eyes
Begged him refresh the air more than it was:
No sooner prayer made than prayer accepts
And the soft winds more mellower made
The growing morn amidst the light of day
That from the horizon’s edge grew and advanced:
A fringe of gold appeared and attached around
The wavelets riding on the bosomed sea
And more and more the gold shone in the light
As Phoebus smiled upon the merry scene
At which the Poet pleased began to sing
A song of mirth wherein as in a mirror fair
The fair resplendent world he painted full:
And on that wealth of pleasant lordliness
A crown imperial did he pile and stall
When his emotions he unfurled full and all.
Happy grew the day; and happier grew
The damsel Dawn and many an hour lay
With locks all flying on the wafting breeze
Unknown and un-espied by Poet’s eyes
She on a crag unknown unseen did stand
An oak that like a lord proportioned stood
Hid her among his foliage green and thick:
Thus lying she full many an hour stood
Enchanted at the Poet’s song her bosom heaved
Up and down with emotioned ecstasies
Through she happiness felt as never before.
But time full expert is at stealth and soon
A growing heat, a humid temperature
The damsel Dawn felt growing up the crag
Wherein she stood from sight sheltered:
As when the serpent turns around his prey
And with contortions wild and strong it holds
The hapless victim is in its strong press
So did the heated vapor turn round the Dawn
And as the hanging icicles from down the trees
In woods where owls by night do haunt and hide
At sight of warming rays of Phoebus’ car
Melt first a little with the first drops and then
Drop after dropp falling melting all
So Dawn did melt in the hot grasp
Of her unwanted love, the mist of day.
And where stood she a few dew drops remained
Of all of her and fed the violets
That on their stalk stood up to welcome day.
Full soon the Poet rose and stopped his song
And with full heart and fair went down a hill
And there he went his home and dreamt a dream:
The day arose and glaring shone the wheels
Of Phoebus’ car as faster sped they on.
As in defiance of Jove’s mighty reign.
Amid the heats and turmoil of a summer’s day
The Poet dreamed and rose
When the afternoon with retreating steps
Descended a small hill that looked to west.
Full subdued was his look; and in his eyes
The fire of the morn no longer shone;
But full instead a tear in his eye shone
And twinkled like a star down Saint Anne’s way.
Grey grew the vault of heaven; and the air
A cooler shade assumed; the flowers bent
Their raised heads all more yet to the ground
No longer in its face the ruddiness
Of the merriness of day when they drunk
The golden wine of Phoebus as he passed
Nearer and nearer warming from his car
And rallied they in wondering ecstasy
That in the laze of surfeiting afternoons did pass.
Sang the Poet and his lyre tuned
The notes the Muse inspired by magic wand
No merry tune they gave; but full instead
A sober shade of gloom as midst the trees
Of olives green and thick and foliaged full
The white-robed seer in slow steps slowly paced.
There was yet in that sadness a swift note
That tasted of happiness never before
And as the grey with more grey tinct the skies
The song full sadder rose and mellower.
Dusk came transparent in his airy car
And from behind the Poet’s form he heard
His song and in his eyes appeared
A tear his emotions welled and made:
Gods weep as we frail humans do.
Of wars and loves lost and forlorn
The lyre strung and sung;
Till redder grew the fringe of firmament
And far above the north star shone alone.
And sadder grew the song and wilder strung
The Poet’s lyre and redder the firmament
Till with a pencil of dark a veil appeared
With full advancing step towards the Dusk.
At which full startled Dusk bethought him
To go and so to depart did he prepare.
With shy retiring step the Dusk betook himself
Unto a hidden knoll and there the Dawn
In a faldetta garbed waited -
As when in our country fair in centuries past
The women did their modesty promote by garb
Dark thick and folding so the Dawn
In her enfolded garb lay as the Ind
Within the turbaned sari coloured lies.
At which the Poet noticing
He took the hands of Dawn and then of Dusk
And with them joined his hands in amity
And with tears in his eyes thus wisely spoke:
Sweet Dawn, fair Dusk my friends,
Both of you in the contest for my palm
Have lost and won, for in poesy
You both induced me and fanned by Muse
There is no exact weight in Poesy
By which to cut and draw the lines
And if this be done, then proportionally
Will Poesy be the loser of this deed.
Therefore my friends you both have won
And gladdened me with your deeds and stance.
So said the Poet; then the Dawn and Dusk
Looked into the other’s eyes approving full
And with some token they want to thank
But the Poet moved his hand and further spoke
Thank me not my friends for all of us
Are debtors and creditors full reciprocal
And our friendship must needs ever be
That thus I in my lines will place
The friendship of us three in to eternity.’
So spoke the Poet and then he bade them come
Down that green knoll for dark was gathering
And in the sky strange birds and sounds were seen:
And so they hied them that long night
Unto a merry tavern
And there they had a meal and after that
They to each other drunk a toast
And joining them fair Bacchus full himself
With all his merry fauns and satyrs went
Unto that tavern proud anon he heard
That the Poet was there in that long night.
And all together they made merry there
And drank and toasted: never more plenteous
Did wine brim burning from the pitchers cool
Or more foamy from the making smell.
But that long night, that long night is now far
And into centuries long full lost and hid
As into a vast wood of million trees
The searcher looks for one and finds it not:
But Dawn still rises in the merry morn
And with her locks refreshes the soft day
And wipes the wounds of Earth and men
Reviving by her kiss the loss they made;
And Dusk, sweet Dusk, still red,
Paints the plain heavens soft and sad
And many a lover to this day and more
Pines in sweet Dusk and loves.