Classic Poem

'Twas when the op'ning dawn was still,
I took my lonely road up hill
Toward the eastern sky, in gloom,
Or touch'd with palest primrose bloom;
And there the moon at morning break,
Though yet unset, was gleaming weak,
And fresh'ning air began to pass
All voiceless over darksome grass,
Before the sun
Had yet begun
To dazzle down the morning moon.

By Maycreech hillock lay the cows,
Below the ash-trees' nodding boughs,
And water fell from block to block
Of mossy stone down Burncleeve rock,
By poplar-trees that stood as slim
'S a feather, by the stream's green brim;
And down about the mill, that stood
Half darken'd off below the wood,
The rambling brook
From nook to nook
Flow'd on below the morning moon.

At mother's house I made a stand,
Where no one stirr'd with foot or hand;
No smoke above the chimney reek'd,
No winch above the well-mouth creak'd,
No casement open'd out to catch
The air below the eaves of thatch,
Nor down before her cleanly floor
Had open'd back her heavy door;
And there the hatch
With fasten'd latch
Stood close below the morning moon.

And she, dear soul, so good and kind,
Had holden long, in my young mind,
Of holy thoughts, the highest place
Of honour, for her love and grace.
But now my wife to heart and sight
May seem to shine a fuller light;
And as the sun may rise to view,
To dim the moon from pale to blue,
My comely bride
May seem to hide
My mother, now my morning moon.

But still 'tis wrong that men should slight
By day the midnight's weaker light,
That show'd them, though its gleams were dim,
Where roads had risk of life or limb.
And though the day my wife has made
May shine in joy without a shade,
So long's my life shall hold in flight,
By sunsped day and moonskied night,
Still never let
My heart forget
My mother, now my morning moon.