Daughter of Time, the hypocrite Days,
Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,
And marching single in an endless file,
Bring diadems and fagots in their hands;
To each they offer gifts after his will,
Bread, kingdom, stars, and sky that holds them all;
I, in my pleached garden watched the pomp
Forgot my morning wishes, hastily
Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day
Turned and departed silent. I too late
Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.
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Yet, behind the night,
Waits for the great unborn, somewhere afar,
Some white tremendous daybreak.
Yet, behind the night,
Waits for the great unborn, somewhere afar,
Some white tremendous daybreak.
The day are ever divine as to the first Aryans. They are of the
least pretension, and of the read more
The day are ever divine as to the first Aryans. They are of the
least pretension, and of the greatest capacity of anything that
exists. They come and go like muffled and veiled figures sent
from a distant friendly party; but they say nothing, and if we do
not use the gifts they bring, they carry them as silently away.
Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth
knowledge.
Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth
knowledge.
My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and are spent
without hope.
My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and are spent
without hope.
Listen to the Exhortation of the Dawn!
Look to this Day! For it is Life,
The very read more
Listen to the Exhortation of the Dawn!
Look to this Day! For it is Life,
The very Life of Life.
In its brief course lie all the Varieties
And Realities of your Existence;
The Bliss of Growth,
The Glory of Action,
The Splendor of Beauty;
For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And Tomorrow is only a Vision;
But Today well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every Tomorrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day!
Such is the Salutation of Dawn.
Day!
Faster and more fast,
O'er night's brim, day boils at last;
Boils, pure read more
Day!
Faster and more fast,
O'er night's brim, day boils at last;
Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim.
The better day, the worse deed.
The better day, the worse deed.
I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want read more
I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read, and all the friends I want to see.
Boast not thyself of to morrow; for thou knowest not what a day
may bring forth.
Boast not thyself of to morrow; for thou knowest not what a day
may bring forth.
