Days

I am a Day . . . My sky is grey, My wind is wild, My sea high-piled: In year of days the first In misery . . . Oh pity me! I am a Day Accurst. "Sweet Day, not curst but blest: Behold upon my breast My baby born Your early morn. Safe in my arms alway . . . Oh precious Day, let tempest be, You are to me In heart of mine Divine." * * * * * * * I am a Day . . . From dawn's pure ray Like to a peerless gem In summer's diadem, My sky so softly dreams, my breeze is bland: My sea is blue and creams Upon the sand, Behold! Of days the Queen I reign serene. "Oh Day, not blest but curst! Let savage storm-rack burst, i will not care . . . For Lo! I bear My baby's coffin to the height. Ah! Would it were the foulest night To match my mood''s Ingratitude. I cannot not pray . . . Go your fell way, Accursed Day!"