Explore "L'Aube" by Frederic Manning on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Yea, it is dawn, alas!
Gray is the earth, and cold; / Swift was our night to pass.
Thy hair is like fine gold, / Over the pillows spread / And on the sheet's white fold
The light falls on thine head / And trembles in thine eyes / From which the dreams have fled.
But they keep memories; / Love burnt us up like grass: / Surely Love never dies!
Yea, it is dawn, alas!