Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MORNING, by ANNA MARIA WELLS



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MORNING, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Of all his starry honours shorn
Last Line: Than in a thousand days.
Alternate Author Name(s): Wells, A. M.


OF all his starry honours shorn,
Away old night is stealing;
And upward springs the laughing morn,
A joyous life revealing.

Blue-eyed she comes with tresses spread,
And breath than incense sweeter;
The mountains glow beneath her tread,
Light clouds float on to meet her.

The tall corn briskly stirs its sheaves;
A thousand buds have burst
The soft green calyx, that their leaves
To greet her may be first.

The flowers, that lay all night in tears,
Look upward one by one;
And pearls each tiny petal bears,
An offering to the sun.

With beads the trembling grass is dress'd, --
Each thin spire hath its string,
Scatter'd in mist, as from her nest
The ground-bird flaps her wing.

The lake obeys the zephyr's will,
While, as by fingers press'd,
The bending locust-buds distil
Their sweetness o'er its breast.

With busy sounds the valley rings;
The ploughman yokes his team;
The fisher trims his light boat's wings,
And skims the brightening stream.

The gentle kine forsake the shed,
And wait the milk-maid's call;
The frighted squirrel hears her tread,
And scuds along the wall.

Scattering the night-clouds as in scorning,
Bright pour the new-born rays;
There's more of life in one sweet morning,
Than in a thousand days.





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