Pack, clouds, away! and welcome, day!
With night we banish sorrow.
Sweet air, blow soft; mount, lark, aloft
To give my Love good-morrow!
Wings from the wind to please her mind,
Notes from the lark I'll borrow:
Bird, prune thy wing! nightingale, sing!

Poem Matin Song

205. Matin Song. Thomas Heywood. The Oxford Book of English Verse[bartleby.com]