The night hardly covers the face of the sky,
But the darkness is drawn
Like a veil o'er the heaven these nights in July,
A veil rent at dawn,
When with exquisite tremors the poplar leaves quiver,
And a breeze like a kiss wakes the slumbering river,
And the light in the east keener grows—clearer grows,
Till the edge of the clouds turn from pearl into rose,
And o'er the hill's shoulder—the night wholly past—
The sun peeps at last!