The Morn that breaks its Heart of Gold, by Madison Cawein

  From an ode "In Commemoration of the Founding of the
    Massachusetts Bay Colony."

  The morn that breaks its heart of gold
  Above the purple hills;
  The eve, that spills
  Its nautilus splendor where the sea is rolled;
  The night, that leads the vast procession in
  Of stars and dreams,—
  The beauty that shall never die or pass:—
  The winds, that spin
  Of rain the misty mantles of the grass,
  And thunder raiment of the mountain-streams;
  The sunbeams, penciling with gold the dusk
  Green cowls of ancient woods;
  The shadows, thridding, veiled with musk,
  The moon-pathed solitudes,
  Call to my Fancy, saying, "Follow! follow!"
  Till, following, I see,—
  Fair as a cascade in a rainbowed hollow,—
  A dream, a shape, take form,
  Clad on with every charm,—

  The vision of that Ideality,
  Which lured the pioneer in wood and hill,
  And beckoned him from earth and sky;
  The dream that cannot die,
  Their children's children did fulfill,
  In stone and iron and wood,
  Out of the solitude,
  And by a stalwart act
  Create a mighty fact—
  A Nation, now that stands
  Clad on with hope and beauty, strength and song,
  Eternal, young and strong,
  Planting her heel on wrong,
  Her starry banner in triumphant hands….

  Within her face the rose
  Of Alleghany dawns;
  Limbed with Alaskan snows,
  Floridian starlight in her eyes,—
  Eyes stern as steel yet tender as a fawn's,—
  And in her hair
  The rapture of her rivers; and the dare,
  As perishless as truth,
  That o'er the crags of her Sierras flies,
  Urging the eagle ardor through her veins,
  Behold her where,
  Around her radiant youth,

  The spirits of the cataracts and plains,
  The genii of the floods and forests, meet,
  In rainbow mists circling her brow and feet:
  The forces vast that sit
  In session round her; powers paraclete,
  That guard her presence; awful forms and fair,
  Making secure her place;
  Guiding her surely as the worlds through space
  Do laws sidereal; edicts, thunder-lit,
  Of skyed eternity, in splendor borne
  On planetary wings of night and morn.

* * * * *

  From her high place she sees
  Her long procession of accomplished acts,
  Cloud-winged refulgences
  Of thoughts in steel and stone, of marble dreams,
  Lift up tremendous battlements,
  Sun-blinding, built of facts;
  While in her soul she seems,
  Listening, to hear, as from innumerable tents,
  Æonian thunder, wonder, and applause
  Of all the heroic ages that are gone;
  Feeling secure
  That, as her Past, her Future shall endure,
  As did her Cause
  When redly broke the dawn
  Of fierce rebellion, and, beneath its star,
  The firmaments of war
  Poured down infernal rain,
  And North and South lay bleeding mid their slain.
  And now, no less, shall her great Cause prevail,
  More so in peace than war,
  Through the thrilled wire and electric rail,
  Carrying her message far:
  Shaping her dream
  Within the brain of steam,
  That, with a myriad hands,
  Labors unceasingly, and knits her lands
  In firmer union; joining plain and stream
  With steel; and binding shore to shore
  With bands of iron;—nerves and arteries,
  Along whose adamant forever pour
  Her concrete thoughts, her tireless energies.