AT SUNRISE
The moon declines in lonely goldAmong the stars of ashen-grey—Veiling the pallors of decayWith clouds and glories, fold on fold.
Within a crystal interlude,Stillness and twilight rest awhileEre the bright snows, illumined, smile,From peaks where sullen purples brood;
And from the low Favonian bourn,A light wind blows so dulcetlyIt seems the futile silver sighBreathed by the lingering moon forlorn.