ATTEND my lays, ye ever honour'd nine, <br />Assist my labours, and my strains refine; <br />In smoothest numbers pour the notes along, <br />For bright Aurora now demands my song. <br /> Aurora hail, and all the thousand dies, <br />Which deck thy progress through the vaulted skies: <br />The morn awakes, and wide extends her rays, <br />On ev'ry leaf the gentle zephyr plays; <br />Harmonious lays the feather'd race resume, <br />Dart the bright eye, and shake the painted plume. <br /> Ye shady groves, your verdant gloom display <br />To shield your poet from the burning day: <br />Calliope awake the sacred lyre, <br />While thy fair sisters fan the pleasing fire: <br />The bow'rs, the gales, the variegated skies <br />In all their pleasures in my bosom rise. <br /> See in the east th' illustrious king of day! <br />His rising radiance drives the shades away-- <br />But Oh! I feel his fervid beams too strong, <br />And scarce begun, concludes th' abortive song.<br /><br />Phillis Wheatley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-hymn-to-the-morning/
