The Poets

By George Sterling

I saw from Tamalpais die morning star
    Herald the morning thro' her gates of gold
    (Tho' yet the night reigned absolute and old,
And day seemed past recall, or most afar) ;
Whereat the hosts of light that cinctured are
    In evanescent roses, and that hold
    The vanguard of the dawn, uprising, rolled
To sea the twilight's grey, enormous bar.

Sons of the dawn! you whose exalted light
Foreruns the day, from an inviolate height
    Your voices fall; for, set above your kind,
    You see the morrow when the world gropes blind
In ancient darkness—ere the East is white,
    And the new mornings strike from mind to mind.

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