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Fresh smitten by thy morning ray, | ‘ei 
| When dion art up, alert and gay, 
| Then, cheerful flower! my spirits play 
| : With kindred Se : 
| | And when, at dusk, by dews opprest, 
| Thou sink’st, the image of thy rest 
| Hath often eased my pensive breast 
i| Of careful sadness. | 
| And all day long I number yet, | 
\| All seasons through, another debt, 
Which I, wherever thou art met, i 
To thee am owing; 
An instinct ca aL it, a blind sense— || 
A happy, genial influence, is 
Coming one Nowe not how, nor whenee, | 
\| 

Nor whither going. 
| Child of the year! that round dost run | 
Thy pleasant course,—when day’s begun, | 
| As ready to salute the sun i 
|| As lark or leveret, | 
Thy long-lost praise* thou shalt regain ; | 
Nor be less dear to future men 
Than in old time ;—thou not in vain 
|| Art nature’s favourite. 
* See, in Chaucer and the elder poets, the honours 
formerly paid to this flower 



