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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=118675" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Morning</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=118675" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I woke and heard the thrushes sing at dawn,—<br>A strangely blissful burst of melody,<br>A chant of rare, exultant certainty,<br>Fragrant, as springtime breaths, of wood and lawn.<br>Night's eastern curtains still were closely drawn;<br>No roseate flush predicted pomps to be,<br>Or spoke of morning loveliness to me,<br>But, for those happy birds, the night was gone!<br>Darkling they sang, nor guessed what care consumes<br>Man's questioning spirit; heedless of decay,<br>They sang of joy and dew-embalmèd blooms.<br>My doubts grew still, doubts seemed so poor while they,<br>Sweet worshipers of light, from leafy glooms<br>Poured forth transporting prophecies of day.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Florence+Earle+Coates">Florence Earle Coates</a></strong> from <em><a href="http://sources.citatepedia.com/from.php?a=Florence+Earle+Coates&d=Poems">Poems</a></em></div>

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