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Phillis Wheatley · Ilustración

An HYMN to the MORNING

inglés

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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Por su autor
Phillis Wheatley · 13 piezas más en la casa
Dónde vive
La Biblioteca

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Autor
Phillis Wheatley
Título
An HYMN to the MORNING
Lengua
inglés
Época
Ilustración
Sala
La Biblioteca
Identificador
ws-en-an-hymn-to-the-morning--phillis-wheatley-d95edb
Cita recomendada
Phillis Wheatley, «An HYMN to the MORNING», Poetósfera, poetosfera.com/p/ws-en-an-hymn-to-the-morning--phillis-wheatley-d95edb.html

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