Oscar Wilde


        The sky is laced with fitful red,	 
        The circling mists and shadows flee,	 
        The dawn is rising from the sea,	 
Like a white lady from her bed.	 
        And jagged brazen arrows fall	        
        Athwart the feathers of the night,	 
        And a long wave of yellow light	 
Breaks silently on tower and hall,	 
        And spreading wide across the wold	 
        Wakes into flight some fluttering bird,	  
        And all the chestnut tops are stirred,	 
And all the branches streaked with gold.