O radiant morning, Fresh with dew, Softly spread Your fingers of light, And awaken the world From slumbering dreams. The song of the lark Comes weaving, delighting, In melodies spun Across golden fields. From your heart, the earth blooms; Every petal, a prayer, Every leaf, a dance, In seasonal embrace, Immortal as love.

— Virginia Woolf, Morning Song

• Virginia Woolf