THE World awoke, & op'd his flaming Eye, Which darted through ye skie The broad daylight; And at ye sight The virgin Morne, though Shee Were up & drest before, Yet blushed all o're In Heavnly Modestie, As if s'had slept too long, & were Asham'd ye Sun should look on her. Being but newly risen, and arrayd In a gray Mantel like some homely Maid. Yet all this while in spight of this Sweet Light, Mine Eyes huggd Sleep & Night. I snorting lay, As if ye Day Some foure houres off had been: I who had much to doe, Further to goe, And more to loose or winne, Then had ye Morning, yet let Her Be up & gone, e'r I did stirr. Perhaps She blush'd to see how drowsy I Slep'd out all Shame, whilst Shee had flown so high. At length ye Sunne growne high enough to look In at ye window took His view & spy'd Out my Bedside. The Curtaines were of my Lazie Conspiracie. But Carefull He Sent a quick Ray to pry Into ye Tent of Sloth, & mark Why in ye Morne it should be dark. This found me out, & glaring on mine eyes Stood wondring at Me, why I did not rise. The sleepy Mists thus chased from my Brow, I woke, I knew not how: I cannot say Whither like ye Day I blushed in my Rise Or no; though surely I Had more cause why; For as I rubbd mine Eyes A sudden Consort filld mine eare; Plaine were ye Notes, but sweet & clear, The honest Birds up long, long before Mee Were at their Mattens on a Neighbour Tree. And does ye Day rise more for Birds then Mee That they should earlyer bee At work then I, Who have to flie Higher then they, & bring A Morning-Sacrifice Of Greater price Unto my God & King! Up tardy Heart for Shame; but downe Lower againe upon thine owne Imploring Knees; that is ye surest way To Rise indeed, fairer then did this Day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SAMSON AGONISTES by JOHN MILTON A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH by THOMAS PARNELL THE IMAGE OF GOD by FRANCISCO DE ALDANA IN LAMPLIGHT by MARTIN DONISTHORPE ARMSTRONG PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 59. AL-MUBDI by EDWIN ARNOLD EXPECTATION by GLADYS BRIERLY ASHOUR LINES WRITTEN AT GENEVA by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: A DREAM OF GOOD by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT MY SON'S SON TO HIS SON'S SON - PERHAPS by MABEL RUTHERFORD BRIDGES |