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Morning Glory Poems

Table of Contents

  1. Song of the Morning-Glories by John B. Tabb
  2. The Song of the Morning Glories by Isadore Baker
  3. To a Morning Glory by Fred Warren Howard
  4. The Morning-Glory by Maria White Lowell
  5. Only Morning-Glory That Flowered by Hilda Conkling
  6. The Morning-Glory by Florence Earle Coates

  1. Song of the Morning-Glories

    by John B. Tabb

    We wedded each a star, —
    A warrior true,
    That plighted faith afar
    In drops of dew.

    But comes the cruel Dawn:
    The dew is dry;
    And we, our lovers gone,
    Lamenting, die.

  2. The Song of the Morning Glories

    by Isadore Baker

    So faintly flushing, freshly fair—
    Born of the dawn and dew,
    They seem but blossoms of the air—
    Of sky-ethereal hue.

    The pink and while of sunset cloud,
    The blue of firmament;
    They toll their sweetness slowly, low,
    As some rare instrument.

    Didst hear these elfln bugles blow
    The music of the spheres,
    Didst hear these wind-stirred bells a-chime
    In morn of summer years?

    The poor man's roses. Thus they bloom
    In lone and lowly places,
    And peep behind the lattice bars
    Like wistful baby faces.

    La France may boast her fleur-de-lis,
    And Erin isle, the clover;
    Or England cherish "eyes-of-day,"
    And Egypt lotus lover.

    But edelweiss, or thistle-bloom,
    Though known to song and story,
    Hath ne'er the grace, nor winsome face,
    Of New World morning glory.

    Ephemeral—yet each new day
    Hath gift as fair in waiting,
    No loss of vital chemic force
    If death be new creating.

    Red, white and blue, thy colors true
    In flag or blossom tender,
    In glow of star, or crimson bar,
    In art or nature's splendor.

    O poet, sing this flower of song,
    As Cambridge bard of fleur-de-lis,
    The iris by the river marge,
    Or golden lily of the lea.

    Bloom on! O glory of the morn,
    Guest of the passing hour,
    Thou art to kindred beauty born,
    Though but a summer flower.

  3. To a Morning Glory

    by Fred Warren Howard

    It seems that thou wert made to woo
    This ever-dreary heather,
    But soon sweet flower thy bloom must fade
    When comes the winter weather.
    No flower like thee, so glossy white,—
    So meek and very tender,
    Should grow on these wild lands of ours
    To bloom unseen forever.

  4. The Morning-Glory

    by Maria White Lowell

    We wreathed about our darling's head
    The morning-glory bright;
    Her little face looked out beneath,
    So full of life and light,
    So lit as with a sunrise,
    That we could only say,
    "She is the morning-glory true,
    And her poor types are they."

    So always from that happy time
    We called her by their name,
    And very fitting did it seem—
    For, sure as morning came,
    Behind her cradle bars she smiled
    To catch the first faint ray,
    As from the trellis smiles the flower
    And opens to the day.

    But not so beautiful they rear
    Their airy cups of blue,
    As turned her sweet eyes to the light,
    Brimmed with sleep's tender dew;
    And not so close their tendrils fine
    Round their supports are thrown,
    As those dear arms whose outstretched plea
    Clasped all hearts to her own.

    We used to think how she had come,
    Even as comes the flower,
    The last and perfect added gift
    To crown Love's morning hour;
    And how in her was imaged forth
    The love we could not say,
    As on the little dewdrops round
    Shines back the heart of day.

    We never could have thought, O God,
    That she must wither up,
    Almost before a day was flown,
    Like the morning-glory's cup;
    We never thought to see her droop
    Her fair and noble head,
    Till she lay stretched before our eyes,
    Wilted, and cold, and dead!

    The morning-glory's blossoming
    Will soon be coming round—
    We see the rows of heart-shaped leaves
    Upspringing from the ground;
    The tender things the winter killed
    Renew again their birth,
    But the glory of our morning
    Has passed away from earth.

    O Earth! in vain our aching eyes
    Stretch over thy green plain!
    Too harsh thy dews, too gross thine air
    Her spirit to sustain;
    But up in groves of Paradise
    Full surely we shall see
    Our morning-glory beautiful
    Twine round our dear Lord's knee.

  5. Only Morning-Glory That Flowered

    by Hilda Conkling

    Under the vine I saw one morning-glory
    A tight unfolding bud
    Half out.
    He looked hard down into my lettuce-bed.
    He was thinking hard.
    He said I want a friend!
    I was standing there:
    I said, Well, I am here! Don't you see me?
    But he thought and thought.

    The next day I found him happy,
    Quite out,
    Looking about the world.
    The wind blew sweet airs,
    Carried away his perfume in the sun;
    And near by swung a new flower
    Uncurling its hands . . .
    He was not thoughtful
    Any more!

  6. The Morning-Glory

    by Florence Earle Coates

    Was it worth while to paint so fair
    Thy every leaf—to vein with faultless art
    Each petal, taking the boon light and air
    Of summer so to heart?

    To bring thy beauty unto perfect flower,
    Then, like a passing fragrance or a smile,
    Vanish away, beyond recovery's power—
    Was it, frail bloom, worth while?

    Thy silence answers: "Life was mine!
    And I, who pass without regret or grief,
    Have cared the more to make my moment fine,
    Because it was so brief.

    "In its first radiance I have seen
    The sun!—why tarry then till comes the night?
    I go my way, content that I have been
    Part of the morning light!"

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