The Tryst (Brown)

A TRYST had I with the bright sun to keep Upon a little hill-top in the dew; I promised him to wake mine eyes from sleep And see him paint the dappled dawn anew,— To meet him by the rose-bush in the brake, Aye, e'en before the lark should be awake. I gave my promise as the sun sank red, And then I softly stole away to bed.