Morning Song

Joanna Baillie (1762–1851)

UP! quit thy bower! late wears the hour,

Long have the rooks cawed round the tower;

O’er flower and tree loud hums the bee,

And the wild kid sports merrily.

The sun is bright, the sky is clear;

Wake, lady, wake! and hasten here.

Up, maiden fair! and bind thy hair,

And rouse thee in the breezy air!

The lulling stream that soothed thy dream

Is dancing in the sunny beam.

Waste not these hours, so fresh, so gay:

Leave thy soft couch and haste away!

Up! Time will tell the morning bell

Its service-sound has chimèd well;

The aged crone keeps house alone,

The reapers to the fields are gone.

Lose not these hours, so cool, so gay:

Lo! while thou sleep’st they haste away!