Poem by Lizette Woodworth Reese

Sunrise

The east is yellow as a daffodil.
Three steeples—three stark swarthy arms—are thrust
Up from the town. The gnarlèd poplars thrill
Down the long street in some keen salty gust—
Straight from the sea and all the sailing ships—
Turn white, black, white again, with noises sweet
And swift. Back to the night the last star slips.
High up the air is motionless, a sheet
Of light. The east grows yellower apace,
And trembles: then, once more, and suddenly,
The salt wind blows, and in that moment’s space
Flame roofs, and poplar-tops, and steeples three;
From out the mist that wraps the river-ways,
The little boats, like torches, start ablaze.

1. Herbs
2. A Song for Candlemas
3. Mid-March
4. Lydia is gone this many a year
5. Oh, gray and tender is the rain

Emma Lazarus Sunrise ("Weep for the martyr! Strew his bier")

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