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John Milton

Sweet Is the Breath of Morn

Sweet is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet

With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the Sun

When first on this delightful land he spreads

His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,

Glistening with dew; fragrant the fertile earth

After soft showers; and sweet the coming on

Of grateful evening mild; then silent night

With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon,

And these the gems of heaven, her starry train.