A JANUARY MORNING

How strangely shone the crescent of the moon

In the grey twilight dawning o'er the sea;

A star, that seemed of stars a memory,

( As faint as lilies on a sultry noon )

Ebbed in the chilly waxing of the morn;

The sea was rest in motion; hardly stirred

Its waves upon the beach; there was no bird

To break its undersong of silence born.

The misty shadows lay upon the trees,

Whose colour was but echo of the tone

That earth and sky were wrapped in, harmonies

Of wedded hue were visible alone,

— And over all a breath of memory blown,

Of other dawnings upon other seas.