THE TRAVELLER.

Before the night-blue fades

And the stars are quite gone,

I lift my head

At the noiseless tread

Of the angel of dawn.

I hear no word, yet my heart

Is beating apace;

Then in glory all still

On the eastern hill

I behold his face.

All day through the world he goes,

Making glad, setting free;

Then his day's work done,

On the galleon sun

He sinks in the sea.