Like sea-bird, wings fluttering, closing to rest;
In her eyes shines the light of the glad day, new-born,—
The pure, gentle Spirit of Morn.
A Vision of Night,—the silvery stars
Alight in the East, ere its golden bars
Have imprisoned the slumberous sun;
The sea hoarsely breathing, the wind all astir,
The sparrow crouched low in the boughs of the fir,
But she, the Beautiful One,
Is awake, oh, awake, with her glorious eyes