Aurora Vera
Gone now the thrush, her night song to rest
And on her rowan post, the sparrow
In renewed behest,
Summons her sire the sun from his chamber,
A tawny young daughter, a father of amber.
But his eyes open not for the quarrelsome youngling,
Yet to rise is he, monarch of the day,
While the fox and ermine their last rounds make,
For short the hart their post as guard shall take.
And as filmy night's dissolving pall is cast,
The sun's own fanfare, Aurora Vera at last!