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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117482" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Summer Morning</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'T is beautiful, when first the dewy light<br>Breaks on the earth! while yet the scented air<br>Is breathing the cool freshness of the night,<br>And the bright clouds a tint of crimson wear,<br>Mix'd with their fleecy whiteness; when each fair<br>And delicate lined flower that lifts its head<br>Is bathed in dainty odours, and all rare<br>And beautiful things of nature are outspread,<br>With the rich flush of light that only morn can shed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When every leafy chalice holds a draught<br>Of nightly dew, for the hot sun to drink,<br>When streams gush sportively, as though they laugh'd<br>For very joyousness, and seem to shrink,<br>In playful terror from the rocky brink<br>Of some slight precipice—then with quick leap,<br>Bound lightly o'er the barrier, and sink<br>In their own whirling eddy, and then sweep<br>With rippling music on, or in their channels sleep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">While lights and shades play on them, with each breath<br>That moves the calm still waters; when the fly<br>Skims o'er the surface, and all things beneath<br>Gleam brightly through the flood, and fish glance by<br>With a quick flash of beauty—when the sky<br>Wears a deep azure brightness—and the song<br>Of matin gladness lifts its voice on high,<br>And mingled harmony and perfume throng<br>On every whispering breeze that lightly floats along.—</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'T is sweet to wander forth at such an hour,<br>And drink the spirit of its loveliness;<br>While on the brow no shadowing care-clouds lower,<br>And on strong wing the free thoughts upward press;—<br>Yet there are those whom nature cannot bless,<br>With all her varied beauty;—such as they,<br>Whose cup is drugg'd with pain and sore distress,<br>By their own brother's hand, and the quench'd ray<br>Of whose lost hopes spreads gloom across the brightest day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lo! where, like cattle driven by the lash,<br>Forth to their wearying task in groups they go;<br>The mother, lifting up her hand, to dash<br>The tear-drops from her cheek, that still will flow,<br>As on her ear her infant's wail comes low,<br>Yet painfully distinct; and she must leave,—<br>For the stern overseer wills it so—<br>Her tender little one unsoothed, to grieve,<br>Happy to clasp it safe when she returns at eve.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The feeble crone who on her knees hath borne<br>Her children's grandchildren, is toiling there;<br>Young forms, and weak old men, whose limbs are worn<br>Nigh to the grave—strong men, whose bow'd necks bear<br>Perchance the weight of heavy irons, that wear<br>Into their very souls;—small heed has he<br>Who tasks them, of their ills, and none will spare<br>From the rude scourge—nor old nor infancy—<br>Who have the allotted toil perform'd imperfectly.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh shame upon man's selfishness! that so<br>The love of gold should canker in his breast,<br>Transforming his affection's kindly glow<br>To bitterness, himself into a pest<br>Upon the earth, the scourge of the oppress'd,<br>And tyrant of the helpless.—Strange that they,<br>Who with man's high capacities are blest,<br>Should, for earth's valueless and tinsel clay,<br>Thus cast the priceless jewels of their souls away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Elizabeth+Margaret+Chandler">Elizabeth Margaret Chandler</a> from <i>Poetical Works</i><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117482" data-title="Summer Morning de Elizabeth Margaret Chandler" data-description="'T is beautiful, when first the dewy light/Breaks on the earth! while yet the scented air/Is breathing the cool freshness of the night,/And the bright clouds a tint of crimson wear,/Mix'd with their fleecy whiteness; when each fair/And delicate li..."></div>
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