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The Sun—just touched the Morning
The Morning—Happy thing
Supposed that He had come to dwell
And Life would all be Spring!

She felt herself supremer
A Raised—Ethereal Thing!
Henceforth—for Her—What Holiday!
Meanwhile—Her wheeling King
Trailed—slow—along the Orchards
His haughty—spangled Hems
Leaving a new necessity!
The want of Diadems!

The Morning—fluttered—staggered
Felt feebly—for Her Crown
Her unanointed forehead—
Henceforth—Her only One!