The Morning Moon

[mysticbluebell]

The Morning Moon

By William Barnes (1801 - 1886)

Twas when the op'ning dawn was still,
I took my lonely road, up-hill,
Towards the eastern sky, in gloom,
Or touch'd with palest primrose bloom;
And there the moon, at morning break,
Though yet unset, was gleaming weak,
And fresh'ning air began to pass
All voiceless, over darksome grass,
Before the sun
Had yet begun
To dazzle down the morning moon.
By Maycreech hillock lay the cows,
Below the ash-trees nodding boughs,
And water fell, from block to block
Of mossy stone, down Burncleeve rock,
By poplar-trees that stood as slim
'S a feather, by the stream's green brim;
And down about the mill, that stood
Half darken'd off below the wood,
The rambling brook
From nook to nook
Flow'd on beneath the morning moon.

At mother's house I made a stand,
Where no one stirr'd with foot or hand;
No smoke above the chimney reek'd,
No winch above the well-mouth creak'd;
No casement open'd out to catch
The air below the eaves of thatch;
Nor down before her cleanly floor
Had open'd back back her heavy door;
And there the hatch,
With fastened latch
Stood close, below the morning moon.

And she, dear soul, so good and kind,
Had holden long, in my young mind,
Of holy thoughts the highest place
Of honour, for her love and grace.
But now my wife, to heart and sight,
May seem to shine a fuller light;
And as the sun may rise to view,
To dim the moon, from pale to blue,
My comely bride
May seem to hide
My mother, now my morning moon.


Those "old" poets knew to show the soul of a issue they wrote a poem about and I admire this style.

[puddles]

Yes, Mystic, the masters of old, poets that truly knew how to write out their dreams, for others to enjoy.....................

[norma]

I have finally got around to reading this Mystic. What a lovely poem, I never read it before, or heard of the author. It's a gem, thanks for posting. Roland is correct, the old poets knew how to do it. Wonderful.

[Alan]

Without my glasses I was sure that read BumCleeve rock but bum or burn carves the same image. I agree, it is a delight to read and to imagine the peace of the coutryside in those days.