When ‘last the Light Escapes night drear,
Tis then Morn’ Stands upon the Mountain
And Jocund Day Waits, tiptoe, for Intent;
While Promise ‘pends upon the Balance.
When Yore consumes the Unsullied year
With rash and tainted Fervor,
‘Tis then foreboding haunts the darkness
And Muses Wait upon the Morrow.
When Twilight ‘parts with Fleeting shadow
And dark descends like the Immortal cowl,
Then my Soul Sighs Deep and Long
For the loss of all it once Held Dear.
Beautiful Images found on Pinterest. Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the original photographers. Thank You.