The Sun's Wooing

The sun just touched the morning;

The morning, happy thing,

Supposed that he had come to dwell,

And life would be all spring.

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She felt herself supremer, --

A raised, ethereal thing;

Henceforth for her what holiday!

Meanwhile, her wheeling king

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Trailed slow along the orchards

His haughty, spangled hems,

Leaving a new necessity,

The want of diadems!

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The morning fluttered, staggered,
Felt feebly for her crown, --
Her unanointed forehead
Henceforth her only one.
~ Emily Dicksinon

Photos: Myrtle Beach, SC 2010