A Song of Hope
THE morning breaks, the storm is past. Behold!
Along the west the lift grows bright, —the sea
Leaps sparkling blue to catch the sunshine’s gold,
And swift before the breeze the vapors flee.
Light cloud-flocks white that troop in joyful haste
Up and across the pure and tender sky;
Light laughing waves that dimple all the waste
And break upon the rocks and hurry by!
Flying of sails, of clouds, a tumult sweet,
Wet, tossing buoys, a warm wild wind that blows
The pennon out and rushes on to greet
Thy lovely cheek and heighten its soft rose!
Beloved, beloved! Is there no morning breeze
To clear our sky and chase our mists away,
Like this great air that sweeps the freshening seas,
And wakes the old sad world to glad new day?
Sweeter than morning, stronger than the gale,
Deeper than ocean, warmer than the sun,
My love shall climb, shall claim thee, shall prevail
Against eternal darkness, dearest one!
