Sonnet [This day when waking from pertubéd sleep]

This day when waking from pertubéd sleep,
I see the dim night die upon the dawn,
And gaze on gleaming hill and dewy lawn,
On sunbeams soft that o’er the valley peep;
When Nature seems with ecstasy to weep
At seeing earth and sky so lovely grown,
And innocently to herself alone
Counts and recounts the flowers and clouds they keep,
How clearly do I see through thin green leaves
The truth that only beauteous dawns arouse;
The smallness of the mortal man who grieves,
Whose eyes to loveliness perpetual drowse.
O blesséd morning! how the long dead heaves
To life, suspiring on the blossoming boughs.