My Morning

Is morning less lovely
Because rain fell? Or because
The winds were ruthless and played
At havocking about the blossoms?
Is morning less lovely because
My eyes are brimming and my heart
Is such a little heavy thing, beating
My bosom with a rhythmic pulse and hurting?
Yet is morning less lovely? Nay,
For her head, even though rain has
Descended, is lifted and interwoven
With rainbows, and the havocking wind,
Has spread a footcloth of leaves;
Some of them perfumed things
With honey upon their lips, pink
And glowing, yea, or crimson bruised.
Oh, what a happy thing that I
With brimming eyes may see this morning!