University of Virginia Library


133

SONNET I—MORNING.

Now the sun, with cheerful ray,
Rises to salute the day;
While the fragrant breath of morn
Shakes the dew-drops off the thorn.
Now the lark, with tuneful note,
Strains her little warbling throat,
And, rejoicing, seems to say,
Mortals, rise and hail the day.