http://www.george-sterling.org/

Soon shall the morning break
  To the wide, immortal blue.
Like a swan on a midnight lake
  In my dream are you.
Will you fly when the darkness flies,
  Leaving but dark to me?
And alone on the windy skies
  Shall your passing be?
I shall never know your wings,
  Though I see them lift and go.
Faintly the first bird sings
  And the heavens are aglow.
On its ancient path of light,
  Leading forever to-west,
Hurries the day that is night.
  Farewell, snows of the breast!