In January

Dull tenement and muddy street
    And sober working day:
How came a dawn so rarely sweet
    Above a world so grey?

No lurid threat of tempest there,
    No far flung flaunt of red,
Compelled the weatherwise to stare
    And shake a dubious head.

Dim misty purples, veined with gold,
    Silver and pallid blue,
With grey and pearl - when all was told,
    A meagre range of hue!

But oh! The poetry of scheme,
    The grace of each detail:
Ah! Vain is many an artist's dream
    But this one did not fail.

To miss his message could I choose?
    Before I was aware
I felt the spirit of dawn transfuse
    My outlook everywhere