The Break of Day

THE STARS are pale.   
 Old is the Night, his case is grievous,   
 His strength doth fail.   
  
 Through stilly hours   
The dews have draped with love’s old lavishness           
 The drowsy flowers.   
  
 And Night shall die.   
Already, lo! the Morn’s first ecstasies   
 Across the sky.   
  
 An evil time is done.           
Again, as some one lost in a quaint parable,   
 Comes up the Sun.