Sinopsis

My songs were once of the sunrise: They shouted it over the bar; First-footing the dawns, they flourished, And flamed with the morning star. My songs are now of the sunset: Their brows are touched with light, But their feet are lost in the shadows And wet with the dews of night. Yet for the joy in their making Take them, O fond and true, And for his sake who made them Let them be dear to You.