Originally uploaded by prerona.
The morn is up again, the dewy morn,
With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom,
the clouds away with playful scorn,
And living as if earth contain'd no tomb,
And glowing into day: we may resume
The march of our existence: and thus I,
Still on thy shores, fair Lemon! may find room
And food for meditation, nor pass by
Much, that may give us pause, if ponder'd fittingly.
Originally Posted at Prerona.