Dawn shaking long light pennons in the East—

Is love the least

And love the greatest of the morning’s woes?

See how the rose

Breaks in a hundred petals down the sky.

Darkness must die,

And in the heart, where flutters sad desire,

Wakes the new fire

Silver and azure of the open day.

So, grief, away!

We will be glad with flagons, drown old pain,

And Dawn shall bring us to her own again.