Night falls away and fades along the breeze,
Lost in the turning of diurnal tides,
The morning, like a pallid virgin, glides
In cool seclusion 'mid the spectral trees;
And I, more early risen than the bees
Whose tardy wooing the laburnum chides,
Am ravished by an undersong that bides
The lapsing of the leafy harmonies. I lift my lips to meet the kiss of Morn,
Breathing the breath of Day's sweet maiden-time,
And feel within my spirit, loverwise,
The deep, divine elation sometimes born
Of strains of music or a far-off chime
Or love-light lambent in a woman's eyes.