Before Dawn

Grey, desolate and blind, About the world the rain hath set her woe. She mourns, and will not go — In grief made sister to the wordless wind. Heed not, O heart! but say: 'A little, and she slumbers on her tow'rs. Her tears arc of to-day, And save for them we shall not see the flow'rs.' The narrow path of joy Ends not in joy. Thro' night we pass to morn. O day of darkness born! O sun not all our doubting can destroy! Love, tho by dusk I hark No clarion from the parapets of Fate, Beyond the voiceless dark I know the morning and thy lips await.