On Dawn

Aurora, rosy-fingered, her chariot drives,
Waking the Light slept at Night –
As in the smoke is fire hidden –
Hectic and heartfelt is the pretty sight.

Welcome the feathereds the Dawn,
With their chirpings sweet as a song,
Wafted gentle through the air fresh,
Resting the leaves verdant among.

Order I those the two kings,
To bring me one as of Canace's ring,
To meet with the message mysterious
In the songs canorous that they sing.

Sprinkled as pearls spread are the tears dews,
Drenching grass and leaves far and wide;
And swathed is the world in mist shroud,
And ever it is the dead Winter's pride.