The eye of the poet still loves to view

The earth in the light of morn;
When each object comes in its happiest hue,
When all looks pure, and unstain’d, and new...
Ere the air’s first freshness is worn away...
Ere the sultry sun, in the glare of his pride
Hath dash’d all the dewy drops aside...
Ere man moves forth with his thoughts of care,
With his wearied step, and his selfish air,
And his ominous looks to cloud the scene,
Where brightness and beauty alone have been.

~Thomas Furlong, "Morning Meditations";~Thomas Furlong, "Morning Meditations"