ON RISING EARLY

Rising early and walking in the garden

Before the sun has properly climbed the hill –

His rays warming the roof, not yet the grass

That is white with dew still.

And not enough breeze to eddy a puff of smoke,

And out in the meadows a thick mist lying yet,

And nothing anywhere ill or noticeable –

Thanks indeed for that.

But was there ever a day with wit enough

To be always early, to draw the smoke up straight

Even at three o’clock of an afternoon,

To spare dullness or sweat?

Indeed, many such days I remember

That were dew-white and gracious to the last,

That ruled out meal-times, yet had no more hunger

Than was felt by rising a half-hour before breakfast,

Nor more fatigue – where was it that I went

So unencumbered, with my feet trampling

Like strangers on the past?

[From To Whom Else? (1931)]