- The Morn! she is the source of sighs,
The very face to make us sad;
If but to think in other times
The same calm quiet look she had.
- Hood — Ode to Melancholy.
The blessed morn has come again; The early gray Taps at the slumberer's window pane. And seems to say, Break, break from the enchanter's chain, Away, away! Ralph Hoyt — Snow. A Winter Sketch.
I have heard the mavis singing Its love-song to the morn; I've seen the dew-drop clinging To the rose just newly born. Charles Jeffreys — Mary of Argyle.
Hues of the rich unfolding morn, That, ere the glorious sun be born, By some soft touch invisible Around his path are taught to swell. Keble — The Christian Year. Morning. • s A fine morning, Nothing's the matter with it that I know of. I have seen better and I have seen worse. Longfellow — Christus. Pt. III. John Endi- cott. ActV. Sc. 2.
Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks, And through the opening door that time unlocks Feel the fresh breathing of To-morrow creep. Longfellow — To-morrow.
Dropt from the opening eyelids of the morn Upon the bashful rose. Middleton — Game of Chess. s Under the opening eyelids of the morn.
| author = Milton | work = Lycidas. L. 26.
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky.
| author = Milton | work = Lycidas. L. 171.
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds.
| author = Milton | work = Paradise Lost. Bk. IV. L. 641.
n Now morn, her rosy steps in th' eastern clime Advancing, sow'd the earth with Orient pearl.
| author = Milton | work = Paradise Lost. Bk. V. L. 1. Morn,
Wak'd by the circling hours, with rosy hand Unbarr'd the gates of light.
| author = Milton | work = Paradise Lost. Bk. VI. L. 2. Till morning fair
Came forth with pilgrim steps in amice gray.
| author = Milton | work = Paradise Regained. Bk. IV. L. 426.
When did morning ever break, And find such beaming eyes awake? Moore — Fly not Yet. Morgen Stunde hat Gold im Munde. The morning hour has gold in the mouth. For history of the saying see Max Miller — Lectures on the Science of Language. Sec. Series. P. 378. (Ed. 1864)
Hadn't he been blowing kisses to Earth millions of years before I was born? James Oppenheim — Morning and I.
Bright chanticleer proclaims the dawn And spangles deck the thorn. John O'Keefe — Tzar Peter. Act I. Sc. 4. (Originally "bold" for "bright.