Scatter the clouds that hide The face of heaven, and show Where sweet peace doth abide, Where Truth and Beauty grow. - Robert Bridges

Awake, my heart, to be loved, awake, awake!
The darkness silvers away, the morn doth break,
It leaps in the sky.

Poetry's magic lies in the imagery which satifies even without interpretation..it is accepted as easily as it was created.

Nature hav no music; nor would ther be for thee
any better melody in the April woods at dawn
than what an old stone-deaf labourer, lying awake
o'night in his comfortless attic, might perchance
be aware of, when the rats run amok in his thatch?