If form itself could awake
from slumber of timeless night
fluid chaos would unconsciously take
from deep crystal-faceted light
a shape perfectly ordered
in mists of transient mercury
weaves webs, harmony yet unheard
and unknowing darkness should flee
first comes morning’s ray of light
moist dew and of pale golden hue
no precious stone, however wrought, would be so bright
and no mist or rain such life construe