The Singing Garden

Morning Glory

C.J. Dennis

SINGING morning has begun.
    Where the wooded ranges run
To far summits, there the snow
    Lingers yet. But down below
In the quiet, green-girt places,
    Where full many a swift creek races
From the snow-lands to the sea,
    Now breaks sudden harmony.

Where this tree-walled clearing dreams,
    First a rosy promise beams
As a young dawn steals up the sky
    Where the frozen ramparts lie.
Now from dew-wet leaves a-glitter,
    Comes a little drowsy twitter,
And the first swift spear of light
    Wounds at last the stubborn night.

Flashing now, bright javelins
    Pierce the murk; and now begins—
As day’s gleaming ranks deploy—
    Morning’s canticle of joy.
First a sleepy chuckle, breaking,
    Tells of Laughing Jack awaking,
Pausing; then, from tree to tree,
    Leaps unbound hilarity.

Here’s the signal . . . Morning’s hush
    Sweetness shatters, as grey thrush,
Vieing with the seraphim,
    Lifts his liquid matin hymn.
Golden whistler joins him then,
    Now red robin, now blue wren;
Magpie’s clarion, sounding, swelling,
    Caps the eager chorus welling,
As a wealth of varied notes
    Pouring from these tuneful throats,
Lifting, drifting, soars on high,
    Up to greet morn’s glowing sky.

The Singing Garden - Contents    |     Blandishing the Birds

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