Dawn opens like a great gold flower,
Petal by monstrous petal,
Quivering minute by minute,
Hour by hour.
Stretches great live leaves over hundreds
Scatters flakes of pollen dust into a
Drops a loose petal down where a slender
Morning opens like a gold flower,
Stirs and quivers singingly at the feet of the day;
Shoots transparent light into a moving mist
That wrists spirally
Like a butterfly at play.
In the heart of the mist, morning opens, a
Superbly, like a dawning passion.
Can night be the consummation
Of this expectant white hour?
From On a Grey Thread (Will Ransom, 1923) by Elsa Gidlow. This poem is in the public domain.