Matins - Poem by John Hay
The trembling pulses of the dawn
Fill with faint glow the violet skies,
And on the moist, day-smitten lawn
The peace of morning lies.
A blessed truce of woe and sin,
A glad surcease of care's annoy;
The waking world has pleasure in
Its matin light and joy.
And all the joy that fills the air,
And all the light that gilds the blue,
I see it in your eyes and hair,
I know it, love, in you.
O'er lips and eyes and golden floss
There floats a charm I cannot reach,
A glimpse of gain, a threat of loss,
Beyond my subtlest speech.
The amethyst flush will fade above
Into the dust-dim glare of noon:
The love of youth, the youth of love,
Will fade and pass as soon.
Kiss close, belov'd! for never yet
Could love its bloom unchanging keep.
There are no hearts but they forget,
There are no eyes but sleep.
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