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Phillis 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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