Dip, drip, in and out
The rhythmic oars move slowly,
Mist-kissed, round about
The pale sky reddens wholly;
Chill, still, through waxing light
Mystical and tender,
Morn, born of starlit night,
Clothes herself with splendour.
Rose-glows in eastern sky,
In the north faint flushes;
Boat, float idly by
Past the sedge and rushes!
Here, near the willow screen
River-gods bathe gaily;
White, bright against the green,
Poets see them daily.
See, we, we alone
Greet this fresh sun-waking,
Too few, who hail day done,
See it in the making!
Sad, glad, we two see
Dawn the earth adorning,
Sigh: "Why can no noon be
Worth so gold a morning?"