It matters not what the clocks say or the attitudes and labors of men. Morning is when I am awake and there is a dawn in me.
To prepare for the dawn, garb yourself in plush.
(That’s “rosy-fingered Dawn” to you.)
For the Sun, who scattered into flight
The Stars before him from the Field of Night,
. . . Drives Night along with them from Heav’n, and strikes
The Sultán’s Turret with a Shaft of Light.