From the west the night winds blow,
And the clouds are driven far,
In the sky the moon is low,
Very pale is every star:
While the zephyrs sigh,
And the morn is nigh
When the golden sun will rise on high.
O'er the world the air is still,
All the life is in the sky.
Slowly dawning colors thrill
And the pulse of light beats high:
Waking birds do cheep,
Downy nestlings peep,
Forest folk are waking from their sleep.
In the vale the wood lies dim,
Early dawn is on the hill;
Now the sun bursts o'er its rim,
Rising ever higher still,
Till the day is bright,
Floating clouds are white,
And the heaven is full of glorious light.
