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Morning: Quotations from Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations

The summer morn is bright and fresh, the birds are darting by As if they loved to breast the breeze that sweeps the cool clear sky.— BRYANT — The Strange Lady.

The morn is up again, the dewy morn, With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, And living as if earth contained no tomb, - And glowing into day.— BYRON — Childe Harold. Canto III. St. 98.

Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose From out night's gray and cloudy sheath; Softly and still it grows and grows, Petal by petal, leaf by leaf.— SUSAN COOLIDGE — The Morning Comes

Before the Sun. Awake thee, my Lady-Love! Wake thee, and rise! The sun through the bower peeps Into thine eyes. S.— GEORGE DARLEY — Sylvia; or, The May Queen. Act IV. Sc. 1.

I saw myself the lambent easy light Gild the brown horror, and dispel the night.— DRYDEN — Hind and Panther. Pt. II, L. 1,230.

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn.— GRAY — Elegy in a Country Churchyard. St. 5.

Now from the smooth deep ocean-stream the sun Began to climb the heavens, and with new rays Smote the surrounding fields.— HOMER — Iliad. Bk. VII. L. 525.

Bryant's trans. The Morn! she is the source of sighs, The very face to make us sad; If but to think in other times The same calm quiet look she had. C.— HOOD — Ode to Melancholy.

The blessed morn has come again; The early gray Taps at the slumberer's window pane, And seems to say, Break, break from the enchanter's chain, Away, away!— RALPH HOYT — Snow. A Winter Sketch.

I have heard the mavis singing Its love-song to the morn; I've seen the dew-drop clinging To the rose just newly born.— CHARLES JEFFREYS — Mary of Argyle.

Hues of the rich unfolding morn, That, ere the glorious sun be born, By some soft touch invisible Around his path are taught to swell.— KEBLE — The Christian Year. Morning.

Behold how brightly breaks the morning! Though bleak our lot, our hearts are warm.— JAMES KENNEY — Behold How Brightly

Breaks. A fine morning, Nothing's the matter with it that I know of. I have seen better and I have seen worse.— LONGFELLOW — Christus. Pt. III. John Endicott. Act V. Sc. 2.

Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks, And through the opening door that time unlocks Feel the fresh breathing of To-morrow creep.— LONGFELLOW — To-morrow.

Flames in the forehead of the morning sky.— MILTON — Lycidas. L. 171.

Morn, Wak'd by the circling hours, with rosy hand Unbarr'd the gates of light.— MILTON — Paradise Lost. Bk. VI. L. 2.

Now morn, her rosy steps in th' eastern clime Advancing, sow'd the earth with Orient pearl.— MILTON — Paradise Lost. Bk. V. L. 1.

Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds.— MILTON — Paradise Lost. Bk. IV. L. 641.

Till morning fair Came forth with pilgrim steps in amice gray.— MILTON — Paradise Regained. Bk. IV. L. 426.

Under the opening eyelids of the morn.— MILTON — Lycidas. L. 26.

When did morning ever break, And find such beaming eyes awake?— MOORE — Fly not Yet.

O how beautiful is morning! How the sunbeams strike the daisies And the kingcups fill the meadow Like a golden-shielded army Marching to the uplands fair.— D. M. MULOCK — A Stream's Singing.

The eastern hanging crescent climbeth higher; See, purple on the azure softly steals, And Morning, faintly touched with quivering fire, Leans on the frosty summits of the hills, Like a young girl over her hoary sire.— ROSCOE — Poems and Essays.

Clothing the palpable and familiar With golden exhalations of the dawn.— SCHILLER — The Death of Wallenstein. Act V. Sc. 1. Coleridge's trans.

An hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east.— Shakespeare — Romeo and Juliet. Act I. Sc. 1. L. 125.

As when the golden sun salutes the morn, And, having gilt the ocean with his beams, Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach.— Shakespeare — Titus Andronicus. Act II. Sc. 1. L. 5.

But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill.— Shakespeare — Hamlet. Act I. Sc. 1. L. 166.

Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.— Shakespeare — Romeo and Juliet. Act III. Sc. 5. L.9.

See how the morning opes her golden gates, And takes her farewell of the glorious sun! How well resembles it the prime of youth, Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love.— Shakespeare — Henry VI. Pt. III. Act II. Sc. 1. L. 21.

The busy day, Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald crows, And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer.— Shakespeare — Troilus and Cressida. Act IV. Sc. 2. L. 8.

The day begins to break, and night is fled, Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth.— Shakespeare — Henry VI. Pt. I. Act II. Sc. 2. L. 1.

The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light.— Shakespeare — Romeo and Juliet. Act II. Sc. 3. L. 1.

Darkness is fled. Now, flowers unfold their beauties to the sun, And, blushing, kiss the beam he sends to wake them. C.— R. B. SHERIDAN — The Critic. Act II. Sc. 2.

Hail, gentle Dawn! mild blushing goddess, hail! Rejoic'd I see thy purple mantle spread O'er half the skies, gems pave thy radiant way, And orient pearls from ev'ry shrub depend.— WM. SOMERVILLE — The Chase. Bk. II. L. 79.

And yonder fly his scattered golden arrows, And smite the hills with day.— BAYARD TAYLOR — The Poet's Journal.

Third Evening. Morning. Now the frosty stars are gone: I have watched them one by one, Fading on the shores of Dawn. Round and full the glorious sun Walks with level step the spray, Through his vestibule of Day.— BAYARD TAYLOR — Ariel in the Cloven

Pine. Morn in the white wake of the morning star Came furrowing all the orient into gold.— TENNYSON — The Princess. Pt. III. L. 1.

Rise, happy morn, rise, holy morn, Draw forth the cheerful day from night; O Father, touch the east, and light The light that shone when Hope was born.— TENNYSON — In Memoriam. Pt. XXX.

The meek-eyed Morn appears, mother of Dews.— THOMSON — The Seasons. Summer. L. 47.

The yellow fog came creeping down The bridges, till the houses' walls Seemed changed to shadows, and St. Paul's Loomed like a bubble o'er the town.— OSCAR WILDE — Impression du Matin.