MORNING

 ("L'aurore s'allume.") 
 
 {XX. a, December, 1834.} 


 Morning glances hither, 
 Now the shade is past; 
 Dream and fog fly thither 
 Where Night goes at last; 
 Open eyes and roses 
 As the darkness closes; 
 And the sound that grows is 
 Nature walking fast. 
 
 Murmuring all and singing, 
 Hark! the news is stirred, 
 Roof and creepers clinging, 
 Smoke and nest of bird; 
 Winds to oak-trees bear it, 
 Streams and fountains hear it, 
 Every breath and spirit 
 As a voice is heard. 
 
 All takes up its story, 
 Child resumes his play, 
 Hearth its ruddy glory, 
 Lute its lifted lay. 
 Wild or out of senses, 
 Through the world immense is 
 Sound as each commences 
 Schemes of yesterday. 
 
 W.M. HARDINGE. 


 

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