Morning on Shinnecock

Olivia Ward Bush-Banks - 1869-1944

The rising sun had crowned the hills,
      And added beauty to the plain;
O grand and wondrous spectacle!
     That only nature could explain.

I stood within a leafy grove,
     And gazed around in blissful awe;
The sky appeared one mass of blue,
     That seemed to spread from sea to shore.

Far as the human eye could see,
     Were stretched the fields of waving corn.
Soft on my ear the warbling birds
     Were heralding the birth of morn.

While here and there a cottage quaint
     Seemed to repose in quiet ease
Amid the trees, whose leaflets waved
     And fluttered in the passing breeze.

O morning hour! so dear thy joy,
     And how I longed for thee to last;
But e’en thy fading into day
     Brought me an echo of the past.

’Twas this,—how fair my life began;
     How pleasant was its hour of dawn;
But, merging into sorrow’s day,
     Then beauty faded with the morn.

More by Olivia Ward Bush-Banks


I said a thoughtless word one day,
A loved one heard and went away;
I cried: “Forgive me, I was blind;
I would not wound or be unkind.”
I waited long, but all in vain,
To win my loved one back again.
Too late, alas! to weep and pray,
Death came; my loved one passed away.
Then, what a bitter fate was mine;
No language could my grief define;
Tears of deep regret could not unsay
The thoughtless word I spoke that day.