It is not the wind that wakes with the day

At Dawn:

    Are not the forest fringes wet

    With tears? Is not the voice of all regret

    Breaking out of the dark earth’s heart?

    She too, she too, has loved and lost; and though

    She turned last night in disdain

         Away from the sunset-embers,

    From her soul she can never depart;

    She can never depart from her pain.

    Vainly she strives to forget;

    Beautiful in her woe,

         She awakes in the dawn and remembers.

Alfred Noyes.