MORNING.
Fair on the eastern hills are the beautiful feet of the Morning,
Waking the psalm of life and the matin hymn of labor;
Touching with heavenly fire the looming mountains of shadow,
Till the hidden landscape flames in a sudden blaze of glory:
Calling with earnest voice the breeze that slept in the valleys,
Till it beats with a quicker pulse, dashing the mist before it.
Over her laughing eyes the veil of the dawn is floating,
Hiding the sudden light that else would startle and blind us,
Shading her blushing face, till, casting its veiling from her
She shines on our dazzled eyes, the fairest queen of the hours.
Waking the psalm of life and the matin hymn of labor;
Touching with heavenly fire the looming mountains of shadow,
Till the hidden landscape flames in a sudden blaze of glory:
Calling with earnest voice the breeze that slept in the valleys,
Till it beats with a quicker pulse, dashing the mist before it.
Over her laughing eyes the veil of the dawn is floating,
Hiding the sudden light that else would startle and blind us,
Shading her blushing face, till, casting its veiling from her
She shines on our dazzled eyes, the fairest queen of the hours.
