The morning breaks like a pomegranate
Ah, when to-morrow the dawn comes late
It will find me watching at the marriage gate
On him who is sleeping satiate,
And when the dawn comes creeping in,
Myself to watch the morning win
As it shows him sleeping a sleep he got
He grows distinct, and I see his hot
Then I shall know which image of God
And I shall know my bitter rod
And I shall know the stamp and worth
Shall see an image of heaven or of earth
Yea and I long to see him sleep
I long to know what I have to keep,
My love, that spinning coin, laid still
For me to count—for I know he will
And then he will be mine, he will lie
Opening his value plain to my eye
He will lie negligent, resign
Shall watch the dawn light up for me
And I shall watch the wan light shine
On his brow where the wisps of fond hair twine
On his lips where the light breaths come and go
On his limbs that I shall weep to know
I saw the midlands
The fields of autumn
And sheep on the pasture
And still as ever
My mouth on her pulsing
And my breast to her beating
But my heart at the centre
Was still as a pivot,
On its prowling orbit
And still in my nostrils
And still my wet mouth
And still one pulse
And the world all whirling
Like the dance of a dervish
My sense—and my reason
But firm at the centre
Her own to my perfect
Like a magnet’s keeper
What large, dark hands are those at the window
Lifted, grasping the golden light
Which weaves its way through the creeper leaves
Ah, only the leaves! But in the west,
In the west I see a redness come
Over the evening’s burning breast—
Oh, water-hen, beside the rushes
Hide your quaint, unfading blushes,
Still your quick tail, and lie as dead,
Till the distance folds over his ominous tread.
The rabbit presses back her ears,
Turns back her liquid, anguished eyes
And crouches low: then with wild spring
Spurts from the terror of his oncoming
To be choked back, the wire ring
Her frantic effort throttling:
Ah soon in his large, hard hands she dies,
And swings all loose to the swing of his walk.
Yet calm and kindly are his eyes
And ready to open in brown surprise
Should I not answer to his talk
Or should he my tears surmise.
I hear his hand on the latch, and rise from my chair
Watching the door open: he flashes bare
His strong teeth in a smile, and flashes his eyes
In a smile like triumph upon me; then careless-wise
He flings the rabbit soft on the table board
And comes towards me: ah, the uplifted sword
Of his hand against my bosom, and oh, the broad
Blade of his hand that raise my face to applaud
His coming: he raises up my face to him
And caresses my mouth with his fingers, which still smell grim