Classic Poem

I PRAY you, what's asleep?
The lily-pads, and riffles, and the reeds;
No longer inward do the waters creep,
No longer outwardly their force recedes,
And widowed Night, in blackness wide and deep,
Resumes her weeds.

I pray you, what 's awake?
A host of stars, the long, long milky way
That stretches out, a glistening silver flake,
All glorious beneath the moon's cold ray,
And myriad reflections on the lake
Where star-gleams lay.

I pray you, what 's astir?
Why, naught but rustling leaves, dry, sere, and brown:
The East's broad gates are yet a dusky blur,
And star-gems twinkle in fair Luna's crown,
And minor chords of wailing winds that were
Die slowly down.

I pray you, what's o'clock?
Nay! who shall answer that but gray-stoled dawn?
See, how from out the shadows looms yon rock,
Like some great figure on a canvas drawn;
And heard you not the crowing of the cock?
The night is gone.