Morning

HOW beautiful that earliest burst of light Which floodeth from the opening eyes of morn, When like a fairy palace dew-bedight Bough storying over bough upspreads the thorn, And sweet the melodies which tow’rd the corn In tassel, or the orchard these invite, And that most love-like ever fresh delight Which breathes of many a bloomy thing new born— Breathes from vine clumps in the moist dells appearing, Rich meads and river banks. And cheering then The voice of cattle to their pasture steering, And the full speech of fieldward hastening men!— My very boyhood seems renew’d again ’Mid these delights like a delight careering!