by Clark Ashton Smith
I rose in that hushed hour before the dawn
Unveils its wonder old yet ever-new,
When still the night lies languidly upon
The earth, though stars are growing faint and few.
Up the long path I went, nor paused to rest
Along the cool, dark way, till on the hill
I stood, where dawn's first breeze my brow caressed
With mingled odorous breath and mountain chill.
To west hung heavily the drowsy night,
Weighted with fog, low-clinging, grey and dim,
Adown each valley and about each height,
Thro' which the sinking stars appeared to swim.
I turned, and lo! how pale the eastland's face,
As if it mourned the starlit night's decline,
Ere youthful Day, coming with eager pace,
With kisses should that cheek incarnadine.