I

The rising sun, with beams of gold,
Doth bathe me in his rich delight;
Rejoicing in the morning bright,
I will a lovely tale unfold.

O, sudden splendor!
This world, in sweet sun’s glow,
Awakes from sleep, every parcel doth know,
Each willow doth whisper, ‘Rejoice, rejoice!’

II

When darkness fled and morning came,
And gaily gilded all the stream,
Th’ enchanting days of warmth,
The sun authoritatively reigns supreme.

Among the moaning trees and dulcet streams,
The tranquil blooms of nature hold their place—
The happy vale, the softest grace,
I find in nature all that gleams.

— “A Morning Song”

• Henry Vaughan