Classic Poem

All night it raynes, but in the morn
Bright Phœbus that with it is born
Or begets it drives mists away
And in exchange of night bringes day
Whose life by his death's shortened
And night again raignes in its stead
The Gods these changes did decree
That soe they might part stakes with thee
And as the night is theirs; soe may
Be thine the Empire of the day.