Hovereth ’twixt the night and morn;
And welcome her fullness—the hours
’Mid shadow and those the rose shall grace.
Hast thou among her hours thy heart’s
Desire and dearest? Name thou then of all
His beauteous gifts thy greatest treasure.
The morning, cool and damp, dark-shadowed
By the frowning sun—is this thy chosen?
The midday, flaming as a sword,
Deep-stained by noon’s becrimsoned light—