Classic Poem

Delicious Morning! how thy gentle beams
Glide through the veil of blue, which the mild air
Spreads out o'er all the Isle. The silver waves
Spring to thy soft caress, whilst on the Shore,
As the blithe Reapers bring the produce down,
Rich Ceres heaps her light bound yellow sheaves.
Soft press the Zephyrs on the huddled ears,
Whilst smiling Infant Gleaners prattle on
And gather Strength in gathering future bread.
The Sky-lark mounts, and fills the air aloft
With all the Music that melodious Nature
For its clear pipe composed. The Seaman's note,
Gliding o'er watery plains, its Bass immingles,
And the pleased listener owns the Concert sweet!
Beneath my roving eye blithe Ramsgate spreads
Her haunts alluring. There, awakening Beauties
Ponder the Victims of the last night's Ball,
And smile at thought of recollected wounds
They gave insidious midst the lively dance.
Or future wily stratagems prepare,
Arrange the Robe, th' attractive Feather place
In newer point of view.—Ah! little think
Incautious gazers that the floating Down,
That waves so graceful o'er Sabrina's brow,
Heads a keen arrow levelled at the Heart!
I turn from scenes domestic, feast my thought
Again upon the view the placid Ocean
In beauteous breadth expands around the dome.
Ah! 'tis all Rapture! Whether glides the eye
O'er smooth acclivities with Harvest swelling,
Or rests upon the white receding Sails,
Which on th' Horizon's utmost verge appear
But flitting Butterflies escaped from shore,
Where'er my view doth glance, my mind is filled
With all the sweet sensations of the Muse.
All, all, around is bliss—the bliss of Taste!