Sweet is the breath of morn,

her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun,
When first on this delightful land he spreads
His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit and flower,
Glistening with dew; fragrant the fertile earth
After soft showers, and sweet the coming on
of grateful Evening mild; the silent Night,
With this her solemn bird and his fair Moon,

And these the gems of Heaven, their starry train;
But neither breath of morn nor rising sun
On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower
Glistening with dew, nor fragrance after shower,
Nor grateful Evening mild, nor silent Night,
With this her solemn bird, nor walk by Moon,
Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet”
― John Milton

Tuscany sunrise by Daniel Korzhonov