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A Greeting 
Good morning, Life--and all Things glad and beautiful. My pockets nothing hold, But he that owns the gold, The Sun, is my great friend-- His spending has no end. Hail to the morning sky, Which bright clouds measure high; Hail to you birds whose throats Would number leaves by notes; Hail to you shady bowers, And you green field of flowers. Hail to you women fair, That make a show so rare In cloth as white as milk-- Be't calico or silk: Good morning, Life--and all Things glad and beautiful. W.H. Davies
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