Classic Poem

Oh! who can tell the sweets of May-day morn,
To waken raptures in a feeling mind;
When the gilt East unveils her dappled dawn,
And the gay wood-lark has its nest resigned,
As slow the sun creeps up the hill behind;
Morn reddening round, and daylight's spotless hue,
As seemingly with rose and lily twined;
While all the prospect round beams fair to view,
Like a sweet opening flower, with its unsullied dew.