Coming of Dawn

Thin silver cloud-veils hide the moon. The star-steeds of the chariot of night Course for the western hills; The west-wind a ceaseless flute playing, With its stops of falling autumn leaves.

The forest and the valley a map Drawn by the explorers in the land of reverie: They color it with tones of violet and lavender; Or, make rainbow waves of leaf and light With tones from the changing palette of the breeze.

At last, the thin clouds become thinner yet; The moon now a moonstone in an opal dream; The leaves cease dropping, and dead the wind; Begins a new measure, a new flute playing, As the star-steeds' golden hoofs touch the western hills.