Early In The Morning Poem by David Mitchell

'Twixt the hours of three and four
The poet wakes;
As those angry dark clouds roar,
The morning breaks.
And the chorus of the morn
Quells my short sleep,
As my soul from rest is torn,
To twilight deep.

Yonder birds with their shrill sound
My rest destroy,
And they fill my hearing round,
Seeming to cloy:
Now I wonder how I slept,
So soon to wake,
Light the vigil that birds kept
Could easy break.

Now the skylark's morning song
Is softer far;
Though it was both loud and long,
They quieter are:
And their sound has cast away
The dark of night,
For they've brought their many a ray
Of sun's daylight.