The Morning Star

By George Sterling

'Mid hush of wind and constellations paling,
    Thou gleamest yet, O herald of the dawn!
Tho sister stars, whom light is slowly veiling,
    Tremble and pass, in quietude withdrawn.

Now Nature, stilled as tha in adoration,
    Bids, voiceless, that the hallowed heart aspire
To pause before they beauty's consunnation
    And make itself the altar of thy fire.

Slowly above the darkened forest creeping,
    One cloud, the lonely child of Heaven and Night,
Across the sky goes desolate and weeping,
    Shrouding the north, but not thy vestal light.

O incommunicable beauty burning
    With silent flame the body and the soul!
The exalted gaze, in solitude upturning,
    Finds in thy star a mystery and goal.

Azures of twilight robe the southern mountain,
    Where wakes the bird to greet thee with his mirth,
And see thine image in the tranquil fountain—
    Too bright, too calm, too pure a thing for earth.

I dream that song an echo of thy singing
    Who dream thou singest in thy clear domain,
Till from thy zone the falling music, ringing,
    Mingles its crystal with the falling rain.

Flushed as with radiance of wings immortal,
    Glow now the tracts on which thy glory came,
Till through the amethystine eastern portal
    The morning comes, led by thy dying flame.

Farewell! whose presence now and each to-morrow
    Makes lyrical the heavens and the years,
Wedding the breath of ecstasy and sorrow,
    That beauty such as thine transcend its tears.

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