By Ella Wheeler Wilcox
I saw the day lean o’er the world’s sharp edge,
And peer into night’s chasm, dark and damp.
High in his hand he held a blazing lamp,
Then dropped it, and plunged headlong down the ledge.
With lurid splendor that swift paled to gray,
I saw the dim skies suddenly flush bright.
‘Twas but the expiring glory of the light
Flung from the hand of the adventurous day.