Morning

The mist has left the greening plain,
The dew-drops shine like fairy rain,
The coquette rose awakes again
Her lovely self adorning.

The Wind is hiding in the trees,
A sighing, soothing, laughing tease,
Until the rose says "Kiss me, please,"
'Tis morning, 'tis morning.

With staff in hand and careless-free,
The wanderer fares right jauntily,
For towns and houses are, thinks he,
For scorning, for scorning.
My soul is swift upon the wing,
And in its deeps a song I bring;
Come, Love, and we together sing,
"'Tis morning, 'tis morning."

by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Comments (15)

What a great poem and poet! !
very vivid. I have yet to portray my writing into a picture
My favorite portion of this pretty poem is in the final stanza, where the nameless wanderer eschews the convention and containment of houses and towns. I feel that all the poem was written around this nomadic freedom.
Poet here try to put the musical magical effect by using alliteration and onomatopoeia.. Her lovely self adorning.'Tis morning, 'tis morning.//sighing, soothing, laughing sound can be heard from far lovely
Pretty... :)
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