The Sun is but a morning star.

       Wake up
       And cast your eyes
       On me,
       My face of muse, brightness,
       Symbol of glory,
       Dream of your waking sleep.

William Blake lingers In every breeze that softly sways Through ancient trees. The sun that warms the earth Awakens every life, Gestures wide and careless, To the lily and the rose In a mound of yellow Bursting through the snow.

From deep slumber wrenched, The lark leaps to the sky, Reaching for heaven’s heights. Each day it rises, Every note, a whisper of love, Of faithfulness rolling down The unbroken valleys.

Ah! Forget not, my dear, Time is but measure, A thread through memory, Woven gently, spun fine, In silence, art, and callf Of warmth to keep us whole.

So, rise, rise, once more.. For the sun is still a morning star.

• Edward Thomas