The Traveller

Before the night-blue fades
And the stars are quite gone,
I lift my head
At the noiseless tread
Of the angel of dawn.
I hear no word, yet my heart
Is beating apace;
Then in glory all still
On the eastern hill
I behold his face.
All day through the world he goes,
Making glad, setting free;
Then his day’s work done, On the galleon sun
He sinks in the sea.