The Morning Sun.

    Perhaps you sleep now, fifty miles to the south,
    While I sit here and dream of you by night.
    The thick soft blankets drawn about your mouth
    Have made for you a nest of warm delight;
    Your short crisp hair is thrown abroad and spilled
    Upon the pillow's whiteness and your eyes
    Are quiet and the round soft lids are filled
    With sleep.

                            But I shall watch until sunrise
    Creeps into chilly clouds and heavy air,
    Across the lands where you sleep and I wake,
    And I shall know the sun has seen you there,
    Unmoving though the winter morning break.
    Next, you will lift your hands and rub your eyes
    And turn to sleep again but wake and start
    And feel, half dreaming, with a dear surprise,
    My hand in the sunbeam touching at your heart.

Edward Shanks

Edward Shanks was an English writer, poet, and novelist, known for his literary contributions during the early 20th century. Born on June 11, 1892, in London, Shanks attended Cambridge University where he was a member of the 'War Poets' of World War I. His works reflect the turmoil and changes of his time. Besides poetry, he wrote novels, essays, and book reviews, contributing significantly to English literature. He passed away on May 4, 1953.

Edward Shanks

The Idyll.

Edward Shanks, Simple Poetry

Song: The Cup.

Edward Shanks, Simple Poetry

Memory

Edward Shanks, Simple Poetry

Midwinter Madness.

Edward Shanks, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Song

As I lay in the early sun,
Stretched in the grass, I thought upon
My true love, my dear love,
Who has my heart for ever,
Who is my happiness when we meet,
My sorrow when we sever.
She is all fire when I do burn,
Gentle when I moody turn,
Brave when I am sad and heavy
And all laughter when I am merry.
And so I lay and dreamed and dreamed,
And so the day wheeled on,
While all the birds with thoughts like mine
Were singing to the sun.

Edward Shanks

Day Dawn

All yesterday the thought of you was resting in my soul,
And when sleep wandered o'er the world that very thought she stole
To fill my dreams with splendour such as stars could not eclipse,
And in the morn I wakened with your name upon my lips.

Awakened, my beloved, to the morning of your eyes,
Your splendid eyes, so full of clouds, wherein a shadow tries
To overcome the flame that melts into the world of grey,
As coming suns dissolve the dark that veils the edge of day.

Cool drifts the air at dawn of day, cool lies the sleeping dew,
But all my heart is burning, for it woke from dreams of you;
And O! these longing eyes of mine look out and only see
A dying night, a waking day, and calm on all but me.

So gently creeps the morning through the heavy air,
The d...

Emily Pauline Johnson

Apology.

    Have I slept and failed to hear you calling?
    Cry again, belov'd; for sleep is heavy,
    Curtaining away the golden sunlight,
    Shutting out the blue sky and the breezes,
    Sealing up my ears to all you tell me.
    Cry again! your voice shall pierce the clumsy
    Leaden folds that sleep has wrapt about me,
    Cry again! accomplish what the singing,
    Hours old now on all the trees and bushes,
    And the wind and sun could not accomplish.
    Lo!    I waste good hours of love and kisses
    While the sun and you have spilt your glory
    Freely on me lying unregarding.
    In the happy islands, where no sunset
    Stains the waters with a morbid splendour,
    Where the open skies are blue for ever,
    I might stay for years and years unsleep...

Edward Shanks

Sonnets on Separation V.

    Through the closed curtains comes the early sun,
        First a pale finger, preluding the hand.
    Outside more certainly the day's begun,
        Where bright and brighter still the chestnuts stand,
    Broad candles lighting up at the first fire.
        I stir and turn in my uneasy sleep
    But in my sorrow sleep's my whole desire.
        About the still room small lights move and creep
    Silently, stealthily on wall and chair,
        Till to strong rays and shining lights they grow,
    Which with their magic change the waiting air
        And all its sleeping motes to gold and throw
    A golden radiance on your empty bed,
    Which wakes me with vain likeness to your head.

Edward Shanks

Song for an Unwritten Play.

    The moon's a drowsy fool to-night,
    Wrapped in fleecy clouds and white;
    And all the while Endymion
    Sleeps on Latmos top alone.

    Not a single star is seen:
    They are gathered round their queen,
    Keeping vigil by her bed,
    Patient and unwearièd.

    Now the poet drops his pen
    And moves about like other men:
    Tom o' Bedlam now is still
    And sleeps beneath the hawthorn'd hill.

    Only the Latmian shepherd deems
    Something missing from his dreams
    And tosses as he sleeps alone.
    Alas, alas, Endymion!

Edward Shanks

A Night Scene.

The lights have faded from the little casement,
    As though her closing eyes had brought on night;
    And now she dreams--Ah! dreams supremely bright,
While silence reigns around from roof to basement.
    And slow the moon is mounting up the sky,
Drawing Heaven's myriads in her queenly train,
    Flinging rich largesse, as she passes by,
Of beauty freely over hill and plain.

Around the lattice creep the pure white roses,
    And one light bough rests gently on the pane,
    The diamond pane, through which the angel train
Gaze on the sister saint who there reposes;
    The moonlight silvers softly o'er it now;
And round the eaves the south wind whispers lowly,
    Waving the leaves like curls on maiden's brow;
The peace and stillness make the place seem ho...

Walter R. Cassels