I remember, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn.
I see ya waiting for the bus early in the morn', brick house with a face like Lena Horne.
Ere the blabbing eastern scout, The nice morn, on th' Indian steep From her cabin'd loop-hole peep.
O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down Thro' the clear windows of the morning, turn Thine angel eyes upon our western isle, Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring! The hills tell each other, and the listening Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth, And let thy holy feet visit our clime. Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.
The bright incarnate spirit of the Morn.
Morn, Wak'd by the circling hours, with rosy hand Unbarr'd the gates of light.
Who thinks, at night, that morn will ever be? Who knows, far out upon the central sea, That anywhere is land? And yet, a shore Has set behind us, and will rise before: A past foretells a future.
A little while the rose, And after that the thorn; An hour of dewy morn, And then the glamour goes. Ah, love in beauty born, A little while the rose!
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth, Contagious blastments are are most imminent.
Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine.
My song is ya girlfriend's wakin up ringer. . . or alarm or whateva. She'll be here at 6 in the morn if I let her
I saw old autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence.
How shall we celebrate the day,When God appeared in mortal clay,The mark of worldly scorn;When the Archangel's heavenly Lays,Attempted the Redeemer's Praise,And hail'd Salvation's Morn!
Morn on the waters, and purple and bright Bursts on the billows the flushing of light O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun, See the tall vessel goes gallantly on.
Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn.
Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.
When on a summer's morn I wake, And open my two eyes, Out to the clear, born-singing rills My bird-like spirit flies. To hear the Blackbird, Cuckoo, Thrush, Or any bird in song; And common leaves that hum all day Without a throat or tongue. And when Time strikes the hour for sleep, Back in my room alone, My heart has many a sweet bird's song - And one that's all my own.
Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's Day, All in the morn betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your valentine.
There never was night that had no morn.
The second somebody dies somebody else is born People are celebrating while other people morn Home may be home to you but to me it's foreign Even the matador don't pull the bull by the horns