As the Day Breaks

I pray you, what ’s asleep?   The lily-pads, and riffles, and the reeds; No longer inward do the waters creep,   No longer outwardly their force recedes, And widowed Night, in blackness wide and deep,   Resumes her weeds. I pray you, what ’s awake?   A host of stars, the long, long milky way That stretches out, a glistening silver flake,   All glorious beneath the moon’s cold ray, And myriad reflections on the lake   Where star-gleams lay. I pray you, what ’s astir?   Why, naught but rustling leaves, dry, sere, and brown: The East’s broad gates are yet a dusky blur,   And star-gems twinkle in fair Luna’s crown, And minor chords of wailing winds that were   Die slowly down. I pray you, what ’s o’clock?   Nay! who shall answer that but gray-stoled dawn? See, how from out the shadows looms yon rock,   Like some great figure on a canvas drawn; And heard you not the crowing of the cock?   The night is gone.