Early Morning. 
Miss A. H. Starr. 
H waning moon, that with diminished horn 
Now mak’st thy tardy exit from the sky, 
And with thy mournful and complaining eye 
Art saddening all the beauty of the morn, 
I hasten froma presence so forlorn, 
Nor e’er will emblem find, when most I sigh, 
For love so dear as mine, in aught so wry 
As thy wan aspect at this cheerful dawn. 
But waning now, the sooner wilt thou sail 
In nobler lustre and of ampler size, 
The sooner o’er the budding forests rise 
With that sweet light which lovers inly hail; 
And thus, sad moon, when most thou art apale, 
Thou hast a promise for my hopeful eyes. 



