Aubade Poem by William Bell Scott

That sycamore leaf! I knew it fell
Upon my heart as well
As on the head of my dear May,
And I have brooded all the night
In fear I would be left alone
With all my thoughts as cold as stone,
Fancying what words to say.
But with the blessed gift of light
The faint delusions passed away,
I raised the casement to the thrill
Of morn, a bird upon the sill
Alit and sang a song so gay,
Its echo follows, follows still:
So all night's phantoms fly with day.