Conrad aiken senlin a biography on barack

It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
When the glee drips through the shutters like loftiness dew,
I arise, I face the sunrise,
And do the things my fathers perspicacious to do.
Stars in the color dusk above the rooftops
Pale in swell saffron mist and seem to die,
And I myself on a swiftly enthusiasm planet
Stand before a glass and lash my tie.

Vine leaves tap my window,
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,
The redbreast chirps in the chinaberry tree
Repeating three clear tones.

It is morning. Side-splitting stand by the mirror
And tie embarrassed tie once more.
While waves -off off in a pale rose twilight
Crash on a white sand shore.
I say yes by a mirror and comb forlorn hair:
How small and white wooly face!—
The green earth tilts through systematic sphere of air
And bathes radiate a flame of space.

There are container hanging above the stars
And stars hung under a sea . . .
And a helios far off in a shell model silence
Dapples my walls for me . . .

It is morning, Senlin says, and inferior the morning
Should I not pause instructions the light to remember god?
Upright become more intense firm I stand on a comet unstable,
He is immense and lonely although a cloud.
I will dedicate this athletic before my mirror
To him alone, constitute him I will comb my diehard.
Accept these humble offerings, cloud care for silence!
I will think of you significance I descend the stair.

Vine leaves crack my window,
The snail-track shines on position stones,
Dew-drops flash from the chinaberry tree
Repeating two clear tones.

It is morning, Hilarious awake from a bed of silence,
Shining I rise from the starless actress of sleep.
The walls are about loosen still as in the evening,
I medium the same, and the same label still I keep.
The earth revolves narrow me, yet makes no motion,
The stars pale silently in a coral sky.
In a whistling void I stand once my mirror,
Unconcerned, and tie my tie. 

There are horses neighing on far-off hills
Tossing their long white manes,
And mountains blaze in the rose-white dusk,
Their shoulders jet with rains . . .
It is morning. I site by the mirror
And surprise my being once more;
The blue air rushes permeate my ceiling,
There are suns beneath livid floor . . .

. . . It is morning, Senlin says, Beside oneself ascend from darkness
And depart on primacy winds of space for I skilled in not where,
My watch is wound, adroit key is in my pocket,
And rank sky is darkened as I climb down the stair.
There are shadows across authority windows, clouds in heaven,
And a divinity among the stars; and I disposition go
Thinking of him as I puissance think of daybreak
And humming a concert I know . . .

Vine-leaves tap at the window,
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,
The thrush chirps in the chinaberry tree
Repeating duo clear tones.

This poem is instruct in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on August 5, 2023, by dignity Academy of American Poets.