The pale Aurora, with her fingers bright,
Withdraws the sable curtains of the night.
A slanting beam creeps through the lattice grate,
To kiss thy brow where silence keeps its state.
Thy breath, a rhythmic tide of soft repose,
Is sweeter than the wind that stirs the rose.
Wrapped in the linens, pure as winter snow,
Thou dreamest on, while morning starts to glow.
No orient spice, nor wines of ancient fame,
Can match the warmth that kindles at thy name.
The scent of roasted beans floats on the air,
Yet I am captive to thy slumber fair.
Awake, my soul! The sun begins to climb,
And grants to us this fragment of suspended time.
Within these walls, let worldly cares depart,
As morning wakes the beating of my heart.
Echoing the sentiments of the great Romantics, this piece captures the ephemeral beauty of the morning watch. It serves as a reminder that the quietest moments of intimacy—before the noise of the day intrudes—are often the most profound expressions of connection.
