BY MORNING TWILIGHT

Night, like a dying mother,

Eyes her young offspring, Day.

The birds are dreamily piping.

And O, my love, my darling!

The night is life ebb'd away:

Away beyond our reach!

A sea that has cast us pale on the beach;

Weeds with the weeds and the pebbles

That hear the lone tamarisk rooted in sand

Sway

With the song of the sea to the land.