Half-light of dawn in the hushed upper room,

Where all night long two comrades, side by side,

Have slumbered in the summer-scented gloom,

Fanned by faint breezes from a window wide.

He sleeps, and stirs not. He meanwhile awake,

Steadfastly gazing and with mind intent

To drink soul-deep of beauty, dares not break

By breath or sigh his own heart’s ravishment.

Bare arms light folded on the broad bare chest;

Dark curls crisp clustering round the athlete’s head;

Shoulder and throat heroic; all is rest,

Marble with loveliest hues of life o’erspread.

Life in the glowing cheeks, the hands sun-brown,

The warm blood tingling to each finger-tip;

Life in youth’s earliest bloom of tender down,

Tawny on chin and strong short upper lip:

Life in the cool white, flushed with faintest rose,

Of flank and heaving bosom, where each vein,

Half seen, a thread of softest violet, flows,

Like streaks that some full-throated lily stain.

Deep rest, and draught of slumber. Not one dream

Ruffles the mirror of that sentient sea,

Whereon the world and all its pride will gleam,

When the soul starts from sleep, so royally.

Hush! ’Tis a bell of morning. Far and near,

From sea-set tower and island chimes reply:

Thrills the still air with sound divinely clear;

And the stirred sleeper wakens with a sigh.