Poesia

Set ope all shutters, that the day come in Like a sea or a din! Let not a nook of useless shade compel Thoughts of the night, or tell The mind's comparing that some things are sad, For this day all are glad! 'Tis morn, 'tis open morn, the full sun is Risen from out the abyss Where last night lay beyond the unseen rim Of the horizon dim. Now is the bride awaking. Lo! she starts To feel the day is home Whose too-near night will put two different hearts To beat as near as flesh can let them come. Guess how she joys in her feared going, nor opes Her eyes for fear of fearing at her joy. Now is the pained arrival of all hopes. With the half-thought she scarce knows how to toy. Oh, let her wait a moment or a day And prepare for the fray For which her thoughts not ever quite prepare! With the real day's arrival she's half wroth. Though she wish what she wants, she yet doth stay. Her dreams yet merged are In the slow verge of sleep, which idly doth The accurate hope of things remotely mar.