The Midnight wooed the Morning Star,
And prayed her: 'Love come nearer;
Your swinging coldly there afar
To me but makes you dearer.'
The Morning Star was pale with dole
As said she, low replying:
'Oh, lover mine, soul of my soul,
For you I too am sighing.'
'But One ordained when we were born,
In spite of love's insistence,
That night might only view the Morn
Adoring at a distance.'
But as she spoke, the jealous Sun
Across the heavens panted;
'Oh, whining fools,' he cried, 'have done,
Your wishes shall be granted.'
He hurled his flaming lances far;
The twain stood unaffrighted,
And Midnight and the Morning Star
Lay down in death united.