In the Silence of the Morn
In a quietude of dreaming,
In the silence of the morn,
With the virgin daylight beaming,
Over landscapes spread forlorn.
I walked out along the heather,
And towards the stalwart trees,
So magnificent together,
In the cloaking winter freeze.
With the water blackly flowing,
Past the reeds in whispers met,
Into darkness and unknowing,
In a trance I shan’t forget.
I was worshipping the morning,
With my eyes so tightly closed,
In the palace of the dawning,
In a reverie reposed.
When a sprite from out the distance,
Came to tarry at my face,
Speaking softly in persistence,
In a shawl of flowing lace.
I extended friendly greeting,
With a light from out mine eyes,
Such an unexpected meeting,
Under melancholy skies.
“Tis thy daughter, gracious mother,
Aye the one that passed away,
Leaving but my lonely brother,
On that inauspicious day.
Pray awake ye to my vision!
Tis the daughter that ye raised!
Then the scythe and death’s decision,
Stricken dead and lying dazed.
Pray remember ye the sorrow?
And the loss that struck us raw?
Severed from the new tomorrow,
And the sight of heaven’s shore.
I have loved ye still, my dearest,
From the land where spirits dwell,
Wanting ye to be my nearest,
Seeking comfort in my hell.”
I looked up with sad comportment,
At the spectre of my child,
Every heartache in assortment,
And by misery beguiled.
And I cried a bitter river,
And I wept my bosom sore,
Wanting to that ghost deliver,
From the demons I deplore.
I looked up into the heaven,
And the orange in the east,
Wanting fore my pain to leaven,
For that precious soul deceased.
I perused the rippling water,
And the solace that it gave,
Pining loudly for my daughter,
Swept too early to the grave.
And I held the silence dearly,
Like a blanket to my chest,
With reflections glancing clearly,
By the wilderness caressed.
Like a monumental purging,
A catharsis from the past,
With emotions hotly surging,
In that pasture spreading vast.
I wilt carry thee forever!
Though our bodies are in twain,
With no power that would sever,
All the love that I contain.
By the greenery and flowers,
By the godhead in the sky,
As I pace the lonely hours,
With the kestrel calling high.
I profess my sure affection,
Giving everything inside,
Wishing solace and protection,
And a rest that would abide.
I drop down unto prostration,
Praying only for release,
For such holy consolation,
As would guide thee unto peace.
And I left my sweet oblation,
Twas of lavender, a sprig,
Like a holy acclamation,
Under winter’s whirligig.
And I left the sombre meadow,
With my ceremony through,
Back unto my common borough,
With my heart redeemed anew.
For I carry her inside me,
And her hell is but my own,
Tis with Jesus set beside me,
That I find my mercy shown.
adamdaniel 