The morning-tide is fair and bright, With golden sun up-springing; The cedars glowed in the new-born light, And the bell-bird's note was ringing; While diamonds dropped by dusky Night, Were yet to the gidyas clinging. The morning waned -- the sun rose high O'erhead, until 'twas seeming But a dazzling disc, and the fiery sky Like an opal sea was gleaming; And languorous flowers -- of morn gone by, And coming eve -- fell dreaming. And now the moon above does creep To laugh at red Sol sinking; While wakening from their sunlit sleep, A few wan stars are blinking, And thirsty, drooping flowers deep Of evening dews are drinking. The birds will soon their carols cease, And crows are homeward hieing; The gloaming deepens, stars increase, The weary day is dying -- Its requiem, murmurous of peace, The vesper winds are, sighing. This night is near! Are you waiting friend, That Night? -- we're drawing nigh it -- When we to the Restful Land shall wend, And leave life's feverish riot -- When the gods to each tired soul shall send Eternal, dreamless quiet.
First published in The Bulletin, 27 August 1892, p17.