After the Storm

By George Sterling

      O turquoise morn!
    Had earth a sorrow?
  The happy larks, sing they
  To-day or yesterday,
Or some enchanted morrow
      And winds unborn?

      To slopes of green
    Only the brook can tell—
    In low, elusive tones
    On smooth and fluting stones—
    Where flow the rains that fell
      By night, unseen.

      Ghost-moon, what way
    Wouldst thou be riding?
    On day's blue diamond
    Thou art a flaw!  Beyond,
I know, the stars are hiding,
      Ere dusk betray.

      I would not see;
    For now the day is new,
    And now a yellow flow'r
    Suffices to the hour—
    That, and a star of dew
      It hoards for me.

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