SUNRISE 1

In my sleep I was fain of their fellowship,

fain

Of the live-oak, the marsh, and the main.

The little green leaves would not let me alone in my sleep;

Up-breathed from the marshes, a message of range and of sweep,

Interwoven with waftures of wild sealiberties, drifting,

Came through the lapped leaves sifting, sifting,

Came to the gates of sleep. Then my thoughts, in the dark of the dungeon-keep

Of the Castle of Captives hid in the City of Sleep,

Upstarted, by twos and by threes assembling:

ΤΟ

From what fount are these tears at thy feet which flow?

They rise not from reason, but deeper inconsequent deeps.

Reason 's not one that weeps.
What logic of greeting lies

1 'Sunrise,' Mr. Lanier's latest completed poem, was written while his sun of life seemed fairly at the setting, and the hand which first pencilled its lines had not strength to carry nourishment to the lips.

...

Sunrise,' the culminating poem, the highest vision of Sidney Lanier, was dedicated through his latest request to that friend who indeed came into his life only near its close, yet was at first meeting recognized by the poet as the father of his spirit,' George Westfeldt. When words were very few and the poem was unread, even by any friend, the earnest bidding came: 'Send him my Sunrise," that he may know how entirely we are one in thought.' (Poems, 1884.)

Ye ministers meet for each pas..on that grieves,

Friendly, sisterly, sweetheart leaves, Oh, rain me down from your darks that contain me

Wisdoms ye winnow from winds that pain

Sift down tremors of sweet-within-sweet That advise me of more than they bring, repeat

Me the woods-smell that swiftly but now brought breath

From the heaven-side bank of the river o

Yet ever the artist, ever more large and bright

Than the eye of a man may avail of: manifold One,

I must pass from thy face, I must pass from the face of the Sun:

Old Want is awake and agog, every wrinkle a-frown;

The worker must pass to his work in the terrible town:

But I fear not, nay, and I fear not the thing to be done;

I am strong with the strength of my lord the Sun:

How dark, how dark soever the race that must needs be run,

I am lit with the Sun.

Oh, never the mast-high run of the seas Of traffic shall hide thee,

180