Classic Poem

What time, gay warbling at thy golden gate,
The shrill lark, floating on a beam of light,
Startles the ling'ring vapours of the Night,
And chears thy dawn, in minstrelsy elate,
Oft, let me mark thy gradual blushes glow,
Streaking the vernal scene with fainter red;
Oft, view thee, glimm'ring in the vale below;
Or meet thee, orient, on the mountain-head.
The Muse meanwhile, shall sportive, rise, and sing,
Drinking pure rapture from thy rosy ray,
Bathe in thy dewy flow'rs, her ardent wing,
And sparkle in the sunny eye of Day:
The rural Lass shall wonder at the sight,
The ploughman strong, the magic deed relate,
Then, ever, let me hail thy glories bright;
What time, gay warbling at thy golden gate,
The shrill lark floats upon a beam of light!