Classic Poem

The night verged slowly into dawn:
I waked while others slept,
Till through the shutters closely drawn
The infinite daylight crept;
I could not keep the morning out,—
Through every chink it came;
It poured its growing beams about
My lamp's decaying flame;
And when I left my written words
The sun was at my door:
I never knew so many birds
Lived in the trees before.