Early One Morning
Early one morning
In a morning mist
I rose up sorrowful
And went out solitary,
And met with Christ.
I knew Him instantly,
For His clothes were worn;
Carpenters gear he carried,
And between us was growing
A winter thorn.
For leaf and blossom
It had drops of dew,
For birdsong, silence -
More lovely, more innocent
Tree never grew.
Give me, said I,
And my hands forlorn
Held out, on it only
One of these dewdrops
Hanging on the thorn.
Of all these dewdrops,
hung betwixt you and me,
That must die at daybreak
I own not one of them
My own, said He.
Hearing Him speak thus,
Each dewdrop shone
Each franchised diamond;
And with sunrising
All was gone.
SYLVIA TOWNSEND WARNER
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