DAY goeth bold in cloth of gold, br A royal bridegroom he; br But Night in jewelled purple walks— br A Queen of Mystery. br Day filleth up his loving-cup br With vintage golden-clear; br But Night her ebon chalice crowns br With wine as pale as Fear. br br Day drinks to Life, to ruddy Life, br And holds a kingly feast. br Night drinks to Death; and while she drinks— br Day rises in the East! br br They may not meet; they may not greet; br Each keeps a separate way: br Day knoweth not the stars of Night, br Nor Night the Star of Day. br br So runs the reign of Other Twain.