Another Day Awakes. And Who-- Changing The World--Is This? He Comes At Whiles, The Winter Through, West Wind! I Would Not Miss His Sudden Tryst: The Long, The New Surprises Of His Kiss. Vigilant, I Make Haste To Close With Him Who Comes My Way. I Go To Meet Him As He Goes; I Know His Note, His Lay, His Colour And His Morning Rose; And I Confess His Day. My Window Waits; At Dawn I Hark His Call; At Morn I Meet His Haste Around The Tossing Park And Down The Softened Street; The Gentler Light Is His; The Dark, The Grey--He Turns It Sweet. So Too, So Too, Do I Confess My Poet When He Sings. He Rushes On My Mortal Guess With His Immortal Things. I Feel, I Know Him. On I Press-- He Finds Me 'Twixt His Wings.