Between the dawn and the sun's rising She could not sleep, so the blood stirred in her; She could not, 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 silver morning She could not sleep, so the blood dinned With the river's silver and the sea's silence And the wind. |