She Is Daylight

I spoke to you, O sunny day -
  an' it seemed my voice was as a cloud
  that briefly shadowed your fine rays
  in saying more than was allowed.
I sang of you, gave wings to words
  and thought to win you with their flight
  and finery, but such poor birds
  seem stains upon your perfect sky.

And yet it seems you spoke of me:
  your beaming smile dispelling shade;
  a balm unto my fevered brain;
in praise of my fair minstrelsy.
And so, if clouds and rain must come,
they shall at night - when you are gone.