Between the dawn and the sun's rising
She could not sleep, so the blood stirred in her;
She could not sleep, and in the cold morning
Woke with the white curtains' stir.

Between the dawn and the river's [flaming]1
She folded a curtain toward the sea,
And, bending, lifted silks together
In the cold light, dubiously.

In the cold air, pulsing the curtain,
She lifted silks; and let them fall.
In the wind she bent above them
Hearing their rustling musical.
Between the dawn and the silver morning
She could not sleep, so the blood dinned
With the river's silver and the sea's silence
And the wind.