A Sunrise Song

Young palmer sun, that to the shining sands Pourest thy pilgrim’s tale, discoursing still Thy silver passages of sacred lands, With news of Sepulchre and Dolorous Hill, Canst thou be he that, Yester-Sunset warm, Purple with Paynim rage and wrack-desire, Dashed ravening out of a dusty lair of storm, Harried the west, and set the world on fire? Hast thou perchance repented, Saracen Sun? Wilt warm the world with peace and dove-desire? Or wilt thou, ere this very day be done, Blaze Saladin still, with unforgiving fire?

Collection:

English

1862

Sidney Lanier

Sub Title:

Poems of Sentiment: II. Life

More from Poet

Song of the Chattahoochee OUT of the hills of Habersham, Down the valleys of Hall, I hurry amain to reach the plain, Run the rapid and leap the fall, Split at the rock and together again, Accept my bed, or narrow or wide, And flee from folly on every side With a lover’s pain to attain the plain Far from the hills...	A Sunrise Song Young palmer sun, that to the shining sands Pourest thy pilgrim’s tale, discoursing still Thy silver passages of sacred lands, With news of Sepulchre and Dolorous Hill, Canst thou be he that, Yester-Sunset warm, Purple with Paynim rage and wrack-desire, Dashed ravening out of a dusty lair...	Sunrise: A Hymn of the Marshes [See full text.] 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. Upbreathed from the marshes, a message of range and of sweep.* * * * * I have waked, I have come, my...	A Ballad of Trees and the Master Into the woods my Master went, Clean forspent, forspent. Into the woods my Master came, Forspent with love and shame. But the olives they were not blind to Him; The little gray leaves were kind to Him; The thorn-tree had a mind to Him When into the woods He came. Out of the woods my Master went...
Sunrise 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 sea-liberties, drifting, Came through the...