The stars hid beneath the cloudy skies,
Never shinning in their rays at day;
For the day seals her beauty,
And not a sting of glory can be felt so high.
The dark sings a lone and quiet song
Bearing the traits and tales of misery,
But the night sky is sweetened with dispersed shinning lights furlong;
For so is the twist of time and fate in mystery.
For to the day and night a moment--
Each its own hours;
So count not how long the hours are bent,
For to it is the produce of flower or dour.
