CONTRARY TO THE WONT OF LOVERS, HE PREFERS MORN TO EVE

Tranquil and happy loves in this agree,
The evening to desire and morning hate:
On me at eve redoubled sorrows wait—
Morning is still the happier hour for me.
For then my sun and Nature's oft I see
Opening at once the orient's rosy gate,
So match'd in beauty and in lustre great,
Heaven seems enamour'd of our earth to be!
As when in verdant leaf the dear boughs burst
Whose roots have since so centred in my core,
Another than myself is cherish'd more.
Thus the two hours contrast, day's last and first:
Reason it is who calms me to desire,
And fear and hate who fiercer feed my fire.

Macgregor.