Now folds the Tree of Day its perfect flowers,
And every bloom becomes a bud again,
Shut and sealed up against the golden
Of bees that hover in the velvet hours…. Now a
Wild and mournful blown from shadow towers,
Echoed from shadow ships upon the foam,
Proclaims the Queen of Night. From their
The dark Princess fluttering, wing their
To their old Mother, in her huge old home.
