Sunrise by Helen Hay Whitney — Read

There was a cry from the sky, A cry at night; It wakened the breeze in the trees When the moon was white; And I, only I, Adrift on life's terrible seas, Read the cry aright.

Pennants of gold were unrolled, They told of sun; Night's pain with the dark and the rain, Was over and done. The travail of old Had passed from the mother again, And the fight was won.

There was a cry from the sky, And my soul was torn With a passion divine, as of wine, From the breast of morn; For I, only I, Knew the cry as the signal and sign That love was born.