The Hour of Dawn
The great, slow brain of the earth is waking
O’er the solar skies;
The white Dawn comes, and the light is breaking
From her half-shut eyes.
As slow she moves with her long skirts trailing
O’er the forest rims,
She lifts her robe of the grey nun’s veiling
From her gleaming limbs.
The praise of birds she has stayed to listen
Where the locked boughs meet;
Her cold cheek warms and the dewdrops glisten
On her bare white feet.
All sounds are still, and the soul is shaken
As it stands alone;
The best and worst in the heart must waken
That the heart has known.
And darkness falls, by the day supplanted;
With her eyes alight,
The Morning stands with her fair feet planted
On the prostrate Night.
And strong hearts glow, and weak ones sicken
At the sound of strife,
Of thoughts that leap and deeds that quicken
In the womb of life.
‘The Hour of Dawn,’ Bulletin 15 Jun 1905: 3. NSW.
See also Verses 1905: 11.