Original Poetry.
MORN. The eastern sky is flushed with red, — Rich crimson tints steal o’er the leas, For lo ! the dreary night has fled, His morning suit flung to the breeze. For now the morn, with rosy flush, Doth usher in the golden day ; With scents from every grove and bush That mingle with the wild birds lay. Oh ! welcome sweet and balmy morn, — All Nature hails thy dewy hours ; With music on the breezes borne, From shady nooks and verdant bowers. Sweet garden odours fill the air, And warbling birds are on the wing Unhaunted by the dreams of care, — Their morning welcome sing. The pleasant vales and rippling rills, The scented leas, and woodland green, The glassy lakes and towering hills Are gilded with thy sunny sheen. Then welcome art thou, smiling morn, Soft Nature’s brightest time; That fills the heart that’s sad and worn, With cheerful thoughts divine. T. A. D. Spring Creek, March 3rd, 1868.
Permanent link to this item
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/MEX18680307.2.18
Bibliographic details
Marlborough Express, Volume III, Issue 106, 7 March 1868, Page 8
Word Count
159Original Poetry. Marlborough Express, Volume III, Issue 106, 7 March 1868, Page 8
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