| yet was at first meeting recognized by the poet |
| as "the father of his spirit", |
| GEORGE WESTFELDT. |
| When words were very few and the poem was unread, |
| even by any friend, the earnest bidding came: |
| "Send him my SUNRISE, |
| that he may know how entirely we are one in thought." |
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Hymns of the Marshes.



I. Sunrise.


In my sleep I was fain of their fellowship, fain
Of the live-oak, the marsh, and the main.
The little green leaves would not let me alone in my sleep;
Up-breathed from the marshes, a message of range and of sweep,
Interwoven with waftures of wild sea-liberties, drifting,
Came through the lapped leaves sifting, sifting,
Came to the gates of sleep.
Then my thoughts, in the dark of the dungeon-keep
Of the Castle of Captives hid in the City of Sleep,