The fairest blossom of the light
Was nurtured in the womb of Night,
An alien to the Sun;
And to her bosom must she need
Recall each love-selected seed,
When blossom-time is done.
And we-by baptism of sleep
Her children-waken but to keep
The memory of charms
And promises, that ne'er too soon
Despite the blandishments of Noon
Restore us to her arms.