'Twixt the hours of three and four <br />The poet wakes; <br />As those angry dark clouds roar, <br />The morning breaks. <br />And the chorus of the morn <br />Quells my short sleep, <br />As my soul from rest is torn, <br />To twilight deep. <br /> <br />Yonder birds with their shrill sound <br />My rest destroy, <br />And they fill my hearing round, <br />Seeming to cloy: <br />Now I wonder how I slept, <br />So soon to wake, <br />Light the vigil that birds kept <br />Could easy break. <br /> <br />Now the skylark's morning song <br />Is softer far; <br />Though it was both loud and long, <br />They quieter are: <br />And their sound has cast away <br />The dark of night, <br />For they've brought their many a ray <br />Of sun's daylight.<br /><br />David Mitchell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/early-in-the-morning-2/
