Henry Alford

February 3, 1830

The Morning arose, She was pillow'd on snows, And kerchief'd in wind and storm; And she dallied with Night Till Hyperion's light Had struggled abroad thro' her form. The Noon came forth On the breeze of the north, All silent and bleak and chill; And he watch'd the streak Of the Spring's young cheek As she peep'd o'er the western hill. Then Evening's eye Look'd out from the sky On the mirror of Ocean's wave; Like an island of light Whose margin bright Heaven's ripples of emerald lave.