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.