At early Morn
L. Saar
Before the morning breaketh,
In homely garb arrayed
Her daily path she taketh
Where toil and duty wait,
Damp mists of night still hover
O'er dark deserted place
Else many could discover
The smile upon her face;
The gods might if they chose it
Divine her secret bright,
Her pillow only knows it,
On which she slept last night.