'Tis morning; and the sun, with ruddy orb

Ascending, fires th' horizon: while the clouds,

That crowd away before the driving wind,

More ardent as the disk emerges more,

Resemble most some city in a blaze,

Seen through...

Poet:

Will there really be a "Morning"?

Is there such a thing as "Day"?

Could I see it from the mountains

If I were as tall as they?


Has it feet like Water lilies?

Has it feathers like a Bird?

Is it...

Poet: