The sacred Book to us hath told.
I deem that morning holds more charms
Than day hides elsewhere in her arms;
But when she folds her shadowy tent,
And stars laugh in the firmament,
A newer phase doth nature take,
And in the heart new joys awake.
Some love the ball-room’s din and glare
As soft they trip some favorite air,
Some love to lounge about the spring,