Poetry Archives

The Midnight wooed the Morning-Star,
  And prayed her: “Love come nearer;
Your swinging coldly there afar
  To me but makes you dearer!”

The Morning-Star was pale with dole
  As said she, low replying:
“Oh, lover mine, soul of my soul,
  For you I too am sighing.

“But One ordained when we were born,
  In spite of Love’s insistence,
That Night might only view the Morn
  Adoring at a distance.”

But as she spoke the jealous Sun
  Across the heavens panted.
“Oh, whining fools,” he cried, “have done;
  Your wishes shall be granted!”

He hurled his flaming lances far;
  The twain stood unaffrighted—
And Midnight and the Morning-Star
  Lay down in death united!