Sonnet

The soft vermilion of the eastern skies,
"Where cloudlets gather 'yond the sleeping hills
To watch the daily task the dawn fulfils,
Doth turn to gold. The gates of Paradise
Burst open, and I see the Sun-god rise.
Victorious he floods the earth, and thrills
All living things; the ocean's frills
He tips with gold; before him darkness flies.
Thus comes the day; but soon its course is run,
And once again with gloomy shroud chill night
O'ershadows mountain, meadow, stream, and wood.
'Tis well; for else, how could earth's work be done?
Were't not for darkness, there could be no light;
And, but for evil, there could be no good.

S.