SAY, whose is the watch? Who exchanges With us? The first planets to rise Are setting; the Pleiades seven Move low on the margin of heaven, And the Eagle is risen and ranges The mid-vault of the skies. No sleeping yet! Up from your couches And watch on, the sluggards ye are! The moon-maiden's lamp is yet burning. Oh, the morning is near us, the morning! Even now his fore-runner approaches, Yon dim-shining star. Nay, hearken! Again she is crying Where death-laden Simois falls, Of the face of dead Itys that stunned her, Of grief grown to music and wonder: Most changeful and old and undying The nightingale calls. And on Ida the shepherds are waking Their flocks for the upland. I hear The skirl of a pipe very distant. And sleep it falls slow and insistent. 'Tis perilous sweet when the breaking Of dawn is so near. |