Explore "The Promise of the Morning Star" by Amy Lowell on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Thou father of the children of my brain / By thee engendered in my willing heart, / How can I thank thee for this gift of art / Poured out so lavishly, and not in vain.
What thou created never more can die, / Thy fructifying power lives in me / And I conceive, knowing it is by thee, / Dear other parent of my poetry!
For I was but a shadow with a name, / Perhaps by now the very name's forgot; / So strange is Fate that it has been my lot / To learn through thee the presence of that aim
Which evermore must guide me. All unknown, / By me unguessed, by thee not even dreamed, / A tree has blossomed in a night that seemed / Of stubborn, barren wood. For thou hast sown
This seed of beauty in a ground of truth.
Humbly I dedicate myself, and yet / I tremble with a sudden fear to set / New music ringing through my fading youth.