To-morrow I will don my cloak
Of opal-grey, and I will stand
Where the palm-shadows stride like smoke
Across the dazzle of the sand.
To-morrow I will throw this blind
Blind whiteness from my soul away,
And pluck this blackness from my mind,
And only leave the medium—grey.
To-morrow I will cry for gains
Upon the blue and brazen sky.