What a glorious morning is this!

It was a morning like other mornings and yet perfect among mornings.

How beautiful, how buoyant, and glad is morning! The first sunshine on the leaves: the first wind, laden with the first breath of the flowers-that deep sigh with which they seem to waken from sleep; the first dew, untouched even by the light foot of the early hare; the first chirping of the rousing birds, as if eager to begin song and flight; all is redolent of the strength given by rest, and the joy of conscious life.

’Neath cold sand I dreamed of death / but woke at dawn to see / in glory, the bright, the morning star.
This was not judgement day — only morning. Morning: excellent and fair.

Lovely morning, World War Two.

The morning of June 27th was clear and sunny, with the fresh warmth of a full-summer day; the flowers were blossoming profusely and the grass was richly green.

Neither had any desire for talk; the glow and glory of existing on this perfect morning were satisfaction full and sufficient

The morning pouring everywhere, its golden glory on the air.

The glory of the day was in her face,
The beauty of the night was in her eyes.
And over all her loveliness, the grace
Of Morning blushing in the early skies.

When did morning ever break,
And find such beaming eyes awake?

Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive
But to be young was very heaven.

It was the hour of morning,
when the sun mounts with those stars
that shone with it when God's own love
first set in motion those fair things

I fused the beauty of dreaming and the reality of life into a single blissful colour..

...On a clear bright day even the softness of the sounds is golden...

The sun just touched the morning;
The morning, happy thing,
Supposed that he had come to dwell,
And life would be all spring.