Stanzas - Part 9
Fresh were the breathings of the night-born gale,
Bright was the dew on fern and blade and thorn,
Gay was the lark that did the morning hail,
And glorious thou, O Sun, that mad'st it morn;
The herds, indeed, mop'd with a heavier eye,
But they were happy still,—and therefore so was I.
Bright was the dew on fern and blade and thorn,
Gay was the lark that did the morning hail,
And glorious thou, O Sun, that mad'st it morn;
The herds, indeed, mop'd with a heavier eye,
But they were happy still,—and therefore so was I.
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