Classic Poem

The sky is spattered with clouds,
Pink clouds,
And behind them is the reluctant blue of dawn.
The hemlock-trees move to a weary wind,
And the clouds lose their brightness,
Gathering to a dull day.

Morning, you observe—
But the night was more shining in my thoughts.
O realistic generation,
Who do not get abroad while still the clouds are pink
And the sky concerned only with how much colour it will choose to wear!