Morning

The sun, when he hath spread his rays,
And shew'd his face ten thousand ways,
Ten thousand things do then begin
To shew the life that they are in.
The heaven shews lively art and hue,
Of sundry shapes and colours new,
And laughs upon the earth; anon,
The earth as cold as any stone,
Wet in the tears of her own kind,
'Gins then to take the joyful mind.
For well she feels that out and out,
The sun doth warm her round about,
And dries her children tenderly;
And shews them forth full orderly:
The mountains high, and how they stand!
The valleys and the great mainland!
The trees, the herbs, the towers strong,
The castles, and the rivers long.
The hunter then sounds out his horn,
And rangeth straight through wood and corn.
On hills then shew the ewe and lamb,
And every young one with his dam.
Then tune the birds their harmony;
Then flock the fowl in company;
Then everything doth pleasure find
In that that comforts all their kind.
 
HENRY HOWARD (Earl of Surrey)