The soft-toned clock upon the stair chimed three—
   Too sweet for sleep, too early yet to rise.
   In restful peace I lay with half-closed eyes,
Watching the tender hours go dreamily;
The tide was flowing in; I heard the sea
   Shivering along the sands; while yet the skies
   Were dim, uncertain, as the light that lies
Beneath the fretwork of some wild-rose tree
Within the thicket gray. The chanticleer
   Sent drowsy calls across the slumbrous air;
   In solemn silence sweet it was to hear
My own heart beat . . . Then broad and deep and fair—
   Trembling in its new birth from heaven’s womb—
   One crimson shaft of dawn sank thro’ my room.