WINTER MORNING The stars faded out of a paling sky, Dropped through the waters, but the Morning Star Grew brighter and brighter, and as the day was nigh A pure wind troubled the rushes near and far. No bird was awake: only the duck Homed to the little lake, fed full with streams: Strange and unreal the full morning broke On a still world as God saw it in dreams. The still-life, austere world was grey and cool, Lit by one burning torch of purest flame. Home -- from what hidden haunt, what secret pool? -- Borne on the morning wind, the wild duck came. -- Katharine Tynan