by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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!