Dawn

when to my darkened room the flushing East
comes with her comrade sharply-clawed, the Dream,
she wakens me by a bright avenging scheme,
an angel in plume, not the besotted beast.
deep vaults of inaccessible azure there,
before the dreamer sick with many a spasm,
open, abysmal as a beckoning chasm.
thus, deity, all pure clear light and air,
over the fog’s reeking track
— brighter and lovelier yet, thane image flies
in fluttering rays before my widening eyes.
the sun has turned the candles' flame to black;
even so, victorious always, thou art one
— resplendent spirit! — with the eternal sun!