Author Philip Henry Savage Not least, 't is ever my delight To drink the early morning light; To take the air upon my tongue And taste it while the day is young. So let my solace be the breath Of morning, when I move to death. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments