Classic Poem

How foolish they, who lengthen night,
And slumber in the morning light,
Who use the taper's feeble ray,
And slight the spendours of the day,
Prefer the sickly glare of art
To the pure pleasures of the heart!
How sweet, at early morning's rise
To view the glories of the skies,
And mark with curious eyes the sun
Prepare his radiant course to run!
Its fairest form then nature wears,
And clad in brightest green appears,
Soft breezes murmur through the sky,
And scatter fragrance as they fly;
The sprightly lark with artless lay
Proclaims the entrance of the day.
How sweet to breathe the gale's perfume,
And feast the eyes with nature's bloom,
Along the dewy lawn to rove,
And hear the music of the grove!
On inspiration's active wings
Then heav'nly contemplation springs,
And then upon the poet's head
Their choicest gifts the muses shed.
Nor you, ye delicate and fair,
Neglect to taste the morning air;
This will your nerves with vigour brace,
Improve and heighten ev'ry grace,
Add to your breath a rich perfume,
And to your cheeks a fairer bloom,
With lustre teach your eyes to glow,
And health and chearfulness bestow.