Come, dawn goes palely up the skies!
O! come from shadowed sleep arise
For, hark, our ousel thrills a call
Warbling in the poplar tall,
Where slender herald breezes rouse,
Passing, murmuring to the boughs,
The rainy voice of aspen leaves;
And swallows twitter in the eaves
‘Come from thy silver dreams arise!
The hush and dimness of the night
Grows strange with creeping strands of light,
And those pale mists that did enshroud
Coldly in a breathless cloud”
“The earth that greyly swathéd lies,
Like ghostly smoke along the skies
The coming sun will roll away,
And bid thee ope thine eyes of grey;
And from thy golden dreaming rise!