Grey dawn on the sand-hills -- the night wind has drifted 
All night from the rollers a scent of the sea; 
With the dawn the grey fog his battalions has lifted, 
At the call of the morning they scatter and flee. 
Like mariners calling the roll of their number 
The sea-fowl put out to the infinite deep. 
And far overhead -- sinking softly to slumber -- 
Worn out by their watching the stars fall asleep. 

To eastward, where rests the broad dome of the skies on 
The sea-line, stirs softly the curtain of night; 
And far from behind the enshrouded horizon 
Comes the voice of a God saying "Let there be light." 

And lo, there is light! Evanescent and tender, 
It glows ruby-red where 'twas now ashen-grey; 
And purple and scarlet and gold in its splendour -- 
Behold, 'tis that marvel, the birth of a day!