Poems (E. L. F.)/Morning
For works with similar titles, see Morning.
MORNING.
Awake, awake! ye slumberers, wake! And to the ethereal strain give ear,Which issues forth from yonder glade— The feathered songsters' chorus hear.
Awake, awake! the sun hath risen; Effulgent light is shed around:The mountain-clouds afar are driven; The dew is swept from off the ground.
The lark is soaring far mid air, And onward takes its solar flight:Fly, morning harbinger! and scare The slumbers from the slothful wight.
The flowers a brighter hue do wear,And, breathing incense, scent the air; A harmony pervades the whole,At once to calm and soothe the soul.
The music breathes from yonder rill, As onward flows the silvery stream—A scene as beautiful and still As ever haunted poet's dream.
The morn of life, however bright,Doth quickly vanish from our sight;And but a shade of what hath been,Remains to shadow out life's scene.