Who hath not seen the morning breaking gaily,
The rivers leaping into dazzling light?
Who hath not view’d the eve declining palely,
Flouting her rosy stillness with black night?
Who then hath mark’d thee not in joy delightful,
Careering on thy young soul’s restless flow?
Or who hath, sadly, blam’d not sorrow spiteful,
Tempering thy beauty with a heavenly glow?
The even tenor of thy bosom led past,
Nor brook’d those tremors that disturb light breasts;
But, like a holy ocean, calm, pure, steadfast,
Just heav’d beneath its load which on it rests;
Streaked with faint tints of long delicious light,
Whose radiance lures but never tires the sight.