There was a cry from the sky,

A cry at night;

It wakened the breeze in the trees

When the moon was white;

And I, only I,

Adrift on life’s terrible seas,

Read the cry aright.

Pennants of gold were unrolled,

They told of sun;

Night’s pain with the dark and the rain,

Was over and done.

The travail of old

Had passed from the mother again,

And the fight was won.

There was a cry from the sky,

And my soul was torn

With a passion divine, as of wine,

From the breast of morn;

For I, only I,

Knew the cry as the signal and sign

That love was born.