I love to rise ere gleams the tardy light,
Winter's pale dawn;--and as warm fires illume,
And cheerful tapers shine around the room,
Through misty windows bend my musing sight
Where, round the dusky lawn, the mansions white
With shutters closed, peer faintly through the bloom
That slow recedes; while yon grey spires assume,
Rising from their dark pile, an added height,
By indistinctness given.--Then to decree
The grateful thoughts to God, ere they unfold
To Friendship, or the Muse, or seek with glee
Wisdom's rich page!--O, hours! more worth than gold,
By whose blest use we lengthen life, and free
From drear decays of age, outlive the old.