Classic Poem

All night I watched awake for morning,
— At last the East grew all a flame,
The birds for welcome sang, or warning,
— And with their singing morning came.

Along the gold-green heavens drifted
— Pale wandering souls that shun the light,
Whose cloudy pinions, torn and rifted,
— Had beat the bars of Heaven all night.

These clustered round the moon, but higher
— A troop of shining spirits went,
Who were not made of wind or fire,
— But some divine dream-element.

Some held the Light, while those remaining
— Shook out their harvest-colored wings,
A faint unusual music raining,
— (Whose sound was Light) on earthly things.

They sang, and as a mighty river
— Their voices washed the night away,
From East to West ran one white shiver,
— And waxen strong their song was Day.