Classic Poem

In solemn calm the Orient waits,
A deep, mysterious silence keeping;
No sign to tell if Day be sleeping
Or if he halt before her gates.

Now, now the mountain tops grow white,
The mists the vales below still cumber,
Still towns and peaceful hamlets slumber—
But heavenward turn your eager sight!

Behold it! Now a gleam awakes
And like young Passion's timid blushes
The red glow brighter, rosier flushes,
Then high above the zenith breaks!

A moment passes: swift the light
Throughout the Ether's vast dominions
Sweeps onward on her glittering pinions
And conquers all the hosts of Night.