I think, therefore iambic pentameter

In the pale, faint, morning light,
Dawn, with fingers lily white,
in stillness waits for Phoebus bright
to set her all aglow.

And when the sun has risen high,
serenely shines the peaceful sky,
content to watch the hours fly
'til bright beams overflow.

In blaze of glory slips the sun
below the earth when day is done;
in darkness, hid from everyone,
the silent dawn will grow.