Hymn to the Morning

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Hymn to the Morning


Attend my lays, ye ever honour'd mine,
Assist my labours, and my strains refine,
In smoothest numbers pour the notes along,
For bright Aurora now demands my song.

Aurora, hail, and all the thousands dies,
Which deck thy progress through the vaulted skies:
The morn awakes, and wide extends her rays,
On ev'ry leaf the gentle zephyr plays;
Harmonious lays the leather'd race resume
Dart the bright eye, and shake the painted plumes.

Ye shady groves, your verdant gloom display
To shield your poet from the burning day:
Calliope, awake the sacred lyre,
While thy fair sisters fan the pleasing fire;
The bow'ers, the gales, the variegated skies
In all their pleasures in my bosom rise.

See in the east th' illustrious king of day!
His rising radiance drives the shades away -
But Oh! I feel his fervid beams too strong,
And scarce begun, concludes th' abortive song.


Philis Wheatley (Phillis Wheatley)


1:35, p. 140





Philis Wheatley (Phillis Wheatley), “Hymn to the Morning,” Periodical Poets, accessed May 18, 2024, https://periodicalpoets.com/items/show/87.


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