Now the Morning Come

Now the morning come
And fair-eyed imp awake;
Hand that was numb
And throat that ached,
Quick, take up a pen,
Take up the early song,
Write of now and then,
Recite again the long
Lyric, the monolithic soul:
Aware and enduring,
Heroically whole.
Already fish hawks are luring
The sun from calm noon,
And the stars are appearing,
Unconcealed by the moon.
Even clouds are clearing
To show the heavenly bore,
What night is revealing:
Voices that sung themselves sore
And fingers unfeeling.

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