Alfred Lord Tennyson - Blooming Morn

How bright thine eyes clasp tender light— The dew-spot on the fern! Of all the wildflower’s sheer delight, With beauty in its turn.

Shall I place my love on flow’rs so rare, Let them blossom in the sun? As Nature weaves a gentle prayer, Let love be ever one.

O blessed is this softer morn! Let blossoms sweetly rise; And linger with the summer-thorn, As peace shall fill the skies.