Of morning sang to his first dawn.
Pollok—Course of Time.
57. Let others hail the oriflamme of morn,
O'er kindling hills unfurl'd, with gorgeous dyes,
Oh, mild blue evening, still to thee we turn,
With holier thoughts and with undazzled eyes.
R. C. Sands.
58. Night; when a cloud, which through the sky,
Sailing alone, doth cross in her career
The rolling moon;—to watch it as it comes,