To him whose elastic and vigorous thought keeps pace with the sun, the day is a perpetual morning. It matters not what the clocks say or the attitudes and labors of men. Morning is when I am awake and there is a dawn in me.
Wake! For the Sun, who scattered into flight The Stars before him from the Field of Night, . . . Drives Night along with them from Heav’n, and strikes The Sultán’s Turret with a Shaft of Light.