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At Dawn
by
Virna Sheard


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Turn to thy window in the silver hour
  That day comes stepping down the hills of night,
Infolded as the leaves infold a flower
  By all her rose-leaf robes of misty light.
Then, like a joy born out of blackest sorrow,
  The miracle of morning seems to say,
"There is no night without its dear to-morrow,
  No lonely dark that does not find the day."


This poem is in the public domain.


Virna Sheard (1862 - 1943) was a Canadian poet and novelist. She often used nature as a theme for her work.

 

 


Post New Comment:
CamilleBalla:
...that day comes stepping down the hills of night...so regal an image I get from this. Also, Joy born out of blackest sorrow ...is so true.
Posted 01/10/2019 11:19 AM
cork:
I now await the dawn.
Posted 01/10/2019 08:31 AM
plgoodman:
This one brought tears, Jayne. Wonderful choice for any of us who are struggling.
Posted 01/10/2019 07:54 AM
wordartdjc:
How lovely....
Posted 01/10/2019 07:52 AM
pwax:
Beautifully put!
Posted 01/10/2019 07:44 AM
Charly:
Joy born out of blackest sorrow....so lovely.
Posted 01/10/2019 07:34 AM


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