It falls away in morning,
When intimations of orange
Creep up on far horizon;
When wistfully we guide
The last dying strands
Of a beautiful dream.

Mourning in winter,
When we become aware of our chimera,
Delicate and desperate though it may be.
Sunrise comes bringing light to the world,
Yet covers the landscape of the soul in darkness.

Another minute could be a lifetime,
But alas, the sunrise is calling my name.
"Awaken, young dreamer!" it's rays seem to shout,
"The day is before you, away with those purified
images from starry dreamland"

Morning in winter,
And the last visions of joy neverending
Fizzle drearily
As I wipe the sleep from my eyes