The Morning Sun, with golden dart,
Crept to Milady's bed;
And as he drew the screens apart
A halo crowned her head.
Such radiance he'd never viewed;
Enraptured, he surveyed
Her virgin charms: beatitude!
He stooped and kissed the maid.
Entranced because her splendor seemed
To dazzle as it shone,
He conjured all his wiles and beamed
Her burning cheeks upon.
And then she woke, Milady fair,
Enchanted by his art,
To find, 'midst fires a slumb'ring there,
His dart had pierced her heart.
And so the Morning Sun can gain
Milady when he tries,
But Midnight Sons must lose, 'tis plain,
Because they're late to rise.