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 she said, 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.

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