The Coming of Morn
See how the Morn awakes. Along the sky Proceeds she with her pale, increasing light, And, from the depths of the dim canopy, Drives out the shadows of departing night. Lo, the clouds break, and gradually more wide Morn openeth her bright, rejoicing gates; And ever, as the orient valves divide, A costlier aspect on their breadth awaits. Lo, the clouds break, and in each opened schism The coming Phoebus lays huge beams of gold, And roseate fire and glories that the prism Would vainly strive before us to unfold; And, while I gaze, from out the bright abysm A flaming disc is to the horizon rolled.
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