Poem by Phillis Wheatley

A Hymn to the Morning

  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.

1. A Funeral Poem on the Death of C. E. an Infant of Twelve Months
2. A Hymn to the Evening
3. On the Death of a Young Gentleman
4. To a Lady and Her Children
5. On the Death of the Rev. Dr. Sewell, 1769

Print

1228 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version