Morn After Morn

MORN after morn, when waking heart and brain,
Released from sleep, set all their portals wide,
There slowly surges back the throbbing tide
Of consciousness, and as from furthest main
The swelling sea, so thou returnest again, O sense of life ! though on thy waves may ride
Wrecks of dead hopes and golden dreams denied,
And some fair flower, mayhap. For joy or pain,
Yet dost thou come ! And from thy deepest heart
One priceless pearl in tremulous light is cast, —
Conviction that thyself immortal art,
That on whatever shore we wake at last,
Still on our senses, sleep-released, shall press
The selfsame tide of throbbing consciousness !
Stuart Sterne.