Morning in Camp

A Bed of ashes and a half-burned brand Now mark the spot where last night’s campfire sprung And licked the dark with slender, scarlet tongue; The sea draws back from shores of yellow sand, Nor speaks lest he awake the sleeping land. Tall trees grow out of shadows; high among Their sombre boughs one clear, sweet song is sung, In deep ravine by drooping cedars spanned, All drowned in gloom; a flying pheasant’s whirr Rends morning’s solemn hush; gray rabbits run Across the clovered glade, while far away Upon the hills each huge, expectant fir Holds open arms in welcome to the sun— Great, pulsing heart of bold, advancing day!

Collection: 
English
Herbert Bashford

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