Classic Poem

Uprose the Day when Night lay dead,
She turned not back to kiss his cheek,
But o'er the sombre eastern peak
She soared, and touched it into red.

Her strong wings scattered mist and cloud,
As swiftly toward the highest blue,
Unhindered, radiant, she flew.
She sang for joy; she laughed aloud.

" The midmost heaven, " she cried, " is mine!
The midmost heaven and half the earth.
A million joys I bring to birth,
Upon a million lovers shine!

" I paint the grape, I gild the corn,
I float the lilies on the lake,
I set a-thrill in field and brake
Fine strains of tiny flute and horn.

" Ah, it is sweet, " she said, and passed,
Exulting still, down the sheer slope
Of afternoon. Her heart of hope
Went with her, dauntless, till, at last,

Upon the far low-lying range
Of hills, she spread a crimson cloud;
From the pale mists she tore a shroud,
And, sinking, faint with sense of change,

She seemed to see a face bend o'er
With kind, familiar eyes. She said:
" Can it be you I left for dead?
Can it be Night? " and spoke no more.

Night wrapped her in his mantle gray;
He kissed the quivering lids that slept;
He bowed his silver head and wept —
" How could she know, my love, my Day? "