St. Agnes' Morning

Between the dawn and the sun's rising

She could not sleep, so the blood stirred in her;

She could not sleep, and in the cold morning

Woke with the white curtains' stir.

Between the dawn and the river's flaming

She folded a curtain toward the sea,

And, bending, lifted silks together

In the cold light, dubiously.

In the cold air, pulsing the curtain,

She lifted silks; and let them fall.

In the wind she bent above them

Hearing their rustling musical.

Between the dawn and the silver morning

She could not sleep, so the blood dinned

With the river's silver and the sea's silence

And the wind.