Friday, March 10, 2017


THROUGH the rushes by the river
     Runs a drowsy tremor sweet,
And the waters stir and shiver
     In the darkness at their feet;
From the sombre east up-stealing,
Gradual, with slow revealing,
Comes the dawn, and with a sigh
          Night goes by.

Here and there, to mildest wooing,
     Folded buds are open-blown;
And the drops their leaves bedewing,
     Like to seed-pearls thickly sown,
Sinking, with the blessing olden,
Deep into each calyx golden,
A supreme behest obey,
          Then melt away.

And while robes of splendor trailing,
     Fitly deck the glowing morn,
And a fragrance, fresh exhaling,
     Greets her loveliness new-born,
Midst divine melodic voicings,
Midst delicious mute rejoicings,
Strong as when the worlds began,
          Awakens Pan!
"Through the Rushes" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in The Atlantic Monthly (March 1892), Poems (1898) and Poems (1916) Volume I.

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