Mildred's Doves

by Henrietta Cordelia Ray
Fair Morn unbars her gates of gold;
Night's shadows lie, a thousand fold,
Upon the hills, the purple mist
By pure Aurora's radiance kissed,
Becomes a dream of color: now
Uplift the heart and bare the brow.

Such moments for us seem to weave
Hope's loveliest tissues; we perceive
The soul's illumination, caught
From some fair mood of Nature fraught
With harmony of sight and sound,
In majesty diffused around.

Fair Morn unbars her gates of gold;
Night's shadows lie, a thousand fold,
Upon the hills, the purple mist
By pure Aurora's radiance kissed,
Becomes a dream of color: now
Uplift the heart and bare the brow.

Such moments for us seem to weave
Hope's loveliest tissues; we perceive
The soul's illumination, caught
From some fair mood of Nature fraught
With harmony of sight and sound,
In majesty diffused around.
Translation: 
Language: 
English
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