Dawn And Dusk A Wager Made

Dawn and Dusk a wager made As to who would win the Poet’s favor- They contested together like friends - no envy Felt they - they are not human. When Dawn the Poet arisen just It lightened up the brightness of its flame Burning like gas self-replenishing And ever-replenishing its flame: Bright grew the face of heaven and on Earth The thrill of happiness rings everywhere: And to delight him more with magic wand Without a sound by words known to gods She to Aeolus called and to her hied The king of winds in russet baggage clad Wherein imprisoned winds at will he held. The which seeing the ardent damsel The King of Winds asked her, her favor She with sparkling eyes Begged him refresh the air more than it was: No sooner prayer made than prayer accepts And the soft winds more mellower made The growing morn amidst the light of day That from the horizon’s edge grew and advanced: A fringe of gold appeared and attached around The wavelets riding on the bosomed sea And more and more the gold shone in the light As Phoebus smiled upon the merry scene At which the Poet pleased began to sing A song of mirth wherein as in a mirror fair The fair resplendent world he painted full: And on that wealth of pleasant lordliness A crown imperial did he pile and stall When his emotions he unfurled full and all. Happy grew the day; and happier grew The damsel Dawn and many an hour lay With locks all flying on the wafting breeze Unknown and un-espied by Poet’s eyes She on a crag unknown unseen did stand An oak that like a lord proportioned stood Hid her among his foliage green and thick: Thus lying she full many an hour stood Enchanted at the Poet’s song her bosom heaved Up and down with emotioned ecstasies Through she happiness felt as never before. But time full expert is at stealth and soon A growing heat, a humid temperature The damsel Dawn felt growing up the crag Wherein she stood from sight sheltered: As when the serpent turns around his prey And with contortions wild and strong it holds The hapless victim is in its strong press So did the heated vapor turn round the Dawn And as the hanging icicles from down the trees In woods where owls by night do haunt and hide At sight of warming rays of Phoebus’ car Melt first a little with the first drops and then Drop after dropp falling melting all So Dawn did melt in the hot grasp Of her unwanted love, the mist of day. And where stood she a few dew drops remained Of all of her and fed the violets That on their stalk stood up to welcome day. Full soon the Poet rose and stopped his song And with full heart and fair went down a hill And there he went his home and dreamt a dream: The day arose and glaring shone the wheels Of Phoebus’ car as faster sped they on. As in defiance of Jove’s mighty reign. Amid the heats and turmoil of a summer’s day The Poet dreamed and rose When the afternoon with retreating steps Descended a small hill that looked to west. Full subdued was his look; and in his eyes The fire of the morn no longer shone; But full instead a tear in his eye shone And twinkled like a star down Saint Anne’s way. Grey grew the vault of heaven; and the air A cooler shade assumed; the flowers bent Their raised heads all more yet to the ground No longer in its face the ruddiness Of the merriness of day when they drunk The golden wine of Phoebus as he passed Nearer and nearer warming from his car And rallied they in wondering ecstasy That in the laze of surfeiting afternoons did pass. Sang the Poet and his lyre tuned The notes the Muse inspired by magic wand No merry tune they gave; but full instead A sober shade of gloom as midst the trees Of olives green and thick and foliaged full The white-robed seer in slow steps slowly paced. There was yet in that sadness a swift note That tasted of happiness never before And as the grey with more grey tinct the skies The song full sadder rose and mellower. Dusk came transparent in his airy car And from behind the Poet’s form he heard His song and in his eyes appeared A tear his emotions welled and made: Gods weep as we frail humans do. Of wars and loves lost and forlorn The lyre strung and sung; Till redder grew the fringe of firmament And far above the north star shone alone. And sadder grew the song and wilder strung The Poet’s lyre and redder the firmament Till with a pencil of dark a veil appeared With full advancing step towards the Dusk. At which full startled Dusk bethought him To go and so to depart did he prepare. With shy retiring step the Dusk betook himself Unto a hidden knoll and there the Dawn In a faldetta garbed waited - As when in our country fair in centuries past The women did their modesty promote by garb Dark thick and folding so the Dawn In her enfolded garb lay as the Ind Within the turbaned sari coloured lies. At which the Poet noticing He took the hands of Dawn and then of Dusk And with them joined his hands in amity And with tears in his eyes thus wisely spoke: Sweet Dawn, fair Dusk my friends, Both of you in the contest for my palm Have lost and won, for in poesy You both induced me and fanned by Muse There is no exact weight in Poesy By which to cut and draw the lines And if this be done, then proportionally Will Poesy be the loser of this deed. Therefore my friends you both have won And gladdened me with your deeds and stance. So said the Poet; then the Dawn and Dusk Looked into the other’s eyes approving full And with some token they want to thank But the Poet moved his hand and further spoke Thank me not my friends for all of us Are debtors and creditors full reciprocal And our friendship must needs ever be That thus I in my lines will place The friendship of us three in to eternity.’ So spoke the Poet and then he bade them come Down that green knoll for dark was gathering And in the sky strange birds and sounds were seen: And so they hied them that long night Unto a merry tavern And there they had a meal and after that They to each other drunk a toast And joining them fair Bacchus full himself With all his merry fauns and satyrs went Unto that tavern proud anon he heard That the Poet was there in that long night. And all together they made merry there And drank and toasted: never more plenteous Did wine brim burning from the pitchers cool Or more foamy from the making smell. But that long night, that long night is now far And into centuries long full lost and hid As into a vast wood of million trees The searcher looks for one and finds it not: But Dawn still rises in the merry morn And with her locks refreshes the soft day And wipes the wounds of Earth and men Reviving by her kiss the loss they made; And Dusk, sweet Dusk, still red, Paints the plain heavens soft and sad And many a lover to this day and more Pines in sweet Dusk and loves.