See how the morning opes her golden gates,
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun!
How well resembles it the prime of youth,
Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love.
SHAKS.: _3 Henry VI.,_ Act ii., Sc. 1.
Sweet is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds.
MILTON: _Par. Lost,_ Bk. iv., Line 641.
Night wanes--the vapors round the mountains curl'd
Melt into morn, and light awakes the world.
BYRON: _Lara,_ Canto ii., St. 1.
The moon is carried off in purple fire:
Day breaks at last.
ROBERT BROWNING: _Return of the Druses,_ Act i.
Lord, in the morning thou shalt hear
My voice ascending high.
WATTS: _Psalm_ v.