Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By ErnestMcGaffey

1434 As the Day Breaks

I PRAY you, what ’s asleep?

The lily-pads, and riffles, and the reeds;

No longer inward do the waters creep,

No longer outwardly their force recedes,

And widowed Night, in blackness wide and deep,

Resumes her weeds.

I pray you, what ’s awake?

A host of stars, the long, long milky way

That stretches out, a glistening silver flake,

All glorious beneath the moon’s cold ray,

And myriad reflections on the lake

Where star-gleams lay.

I pray you, what ’s astir?

Why, naught but rustling leaves, dry, sere, and brown:

The East’s broad gates are yet a dusky blur,

And star-gems twinkle in fair Luna’s crown,

And minor chords of wailing winds that were

Die slowly down.

I pray you, what ’s o’clock?

Nay! who shall answer that but gray-stoled dawn?

See, how from out the shadows looms yon rock,

Like some great figure on a canvas drawn;

And heard you not the crowing of the cock?

The night is gone.