On the glow'ring hills,
thin lines of purple and red
separate the dawn
from the wreckage of the night;
stars and moon are refugees.

Now the first onslaught
of the light of the day star,
Sol the brilliant,
sweeps them all away, fading,
like leaves falling from the trees.

Bare branches the sky,
shorn of all decoration,
wears one bright jewel,
scorning the subtle beauty
of her star-laden nightdress.

Night will come again;
and then dusk's dazzling daughters
frolic in the dark,
playing in galactic light
where the blue fields were all day.