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.