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Phillis Wheatley - An Hymn To The MorningPhillis Wheatley - An Hymn To The Morning
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Attend my lays, ye ever honour`d nine, Assist my labours, and my strains refine; In smoothest numbers pour the notes along, For bright Aurora now demands my song.  Aurora hail, and all the thousand dies, Which deck thy progress through the vaulted skies: The morn awakes, and wide extends her rays, On ev`ry leaf the gentle zephyr plays; Harmonious lays the feather`d race resume, Dart the bright eye, and shake the painted plume.  Ye shady groves, your verdant gloom display To shield your poet from the burning day: Calliope awake the sacred lyre, While thy fair sisters fan the pleasing fire: The bow`rs, the gales, the variegated skies In all their pleasures in my bosom rise.  See in the east th` illustrious king of day! His rising radiance drives the shades away— But Oh! I feel his fervid beams too strong, And scarce begun, concludes th` abortive song.
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