69 Morning Poems to Wake Up Your Dreams

What could be a better way to begin the day than with a few inspiring morning poems? Mornings are more than just the beginning of a new day.

They stand for opportunities, changes, and fresh starts. These poems serve as a reminder of the repetitive nature of life and the daily regeneration, whether you are experiencing great joy or hardship.

They also serve as inspiration for us through times of change in our lives.

So it might not be a bad idea to check out some morning poems, right?

That’s exactly what we have in store for you! Some poems about morning that will wake up your dreams!

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Famous Morning Poems

Some good morning poems can definitely freshen up your mind right at the beginning of the day. That is why you should immediately head out to these poems that we have gathered for you.

1. Morning in The Hills

       by Bliss Carman

How quiet is the morning in the hills!
The stealthy shadows of the summer clouds
Trail through the cañon, and the mountain stream
Sounds his sonorous music far below
In the deep-wooded wind-enchanted cove.
Hemlock and aspen, chestnut, beech, and fir
Go tiering down from storm-worn crest and ledge,
While in the hollows of the dark ravine
See the red road emerge, then disappear
Towards the wide plain and fertile valley lands.
My forest cabin half-way up the glen
Is solitary, save for one wise thrush,
The sound of falling water, and the wind
Mysteriously conversing with the leaves.
Here I abide unvisited by doubt,
Dreaming of far-off turmoil and despair,
The race of men and love and fleeting time,
What life may be, or beauty, caught and held
For a brief moment at eternal poise.
What impulse now shall quicken and make live
This outward semblance and this inward self?
One breath of being fills the bubble world,
Colored and frail, with fleeting change on change.
Surely some God contrived so fair a thing
In a vast leisure of uncounted days,
And touched it with the breath of livng joy,
Wondrous and fair and wise! It must be so. 

2. The Morning Bright

       by T. O. Summers

The morning bright
With rosy light,
Has wak’d me from my sleep;
Father, I own,
Thy love alone
Thy little one doth keep.

All through the day
I humbly pray,
Be Thou my Guard and Guide;
My sins forgive,
And let me live,
Blest Jesus, near Thy side.
Oh make Thy rest
Within my breast,
Great Spirit of all Grace;
Make me like Thee,
Then shall I be
Prepared to see Thy face. 

3. Morning

       by Edward Robeson Taylor

Deep-brooding Night has done its worst and best,
And once again we front the new-born Day,
Where now the sickled moon with lessening ray
Hangs low upon the sky’s auroral breast.
The earth, soft-garmented in robes of gray,
Drinks heaven’s sweet dew with such delightful zest,
She fain would see time held a prisoner lest
The sun should sweep her present joys away.
Home kindles now its necessary fires,
Whose shafts of smoke, that gently pierce the air,
Like incense seem in worship of the Morn.
And as we list to these far-sounding lyres,
So great all grows, so most divinely fair,
The soul, fresh-winged, upsoars as if reborn. 

4. Good-Morning, Sun

       by Annette Wynne

Good-morning, Sun,
Work’s begun
For every one;
While you stay
And make our day
Let me be as true
And good as you.
When you go
Out to the West
I shall be glad for rest
And glad for the day
That went away.
Good-morning, Sun,
Work’s begun,
And play—
Thank you for the day! 

5. Alarm Clocks

       by Joyce Kilmer

When Dawn strides out to wake a dewy farm
Across green fields and yellow hills of hay
The little twittering birds laugh in his way
And poise triumphant on his shining arm.
He bears a sword of flame but not to harm
The wakened life that feels his quickening sway
And barnyard voices shrilling “It is day!”
Take by his grace a new and alien charm.
But in the city, like a wounded thing
That limps to cover from the angry chase,
He steals down streets where sickly arc-lights sing,
And wanly mock his young and shameful face;
And tiny gongs with cruel fervor ring
In many a high and dreary sleeping place. 

6. Morning at The Window

       by T. S. Eliot

They are rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens,
And along the trampled edges of the street
I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids
Sprouting despondently at area gates.
The brown waves of fog toss up to me
Twisted faces from the bottom of the street,
And tear from a passer-by with muddy skirts
An aimless smile that hovers in the air
And vanishes along the level of the roofs. 

7. Out of The Morning

       by Emily Dickinson

Will there really be a morning?
Is there such a thing as day?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?

Has it feet like water-lilies?
Has it feathers like a bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?

Oh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor!
Oh, some wise man from the skies!
Please to tell a little pilgrim
Where the place called morning lies! 

8. Friends of Mine

       by James W. Foley

Good-morning, Brother Sunshine,
Good-morning, Sister Song,
I beg your humble pardon
If you’ve waited very long.
I thought I heard you rapping,
To shut you out were sin,
My heart is standing open,
Won’t you walk right in?

Good-morning, Brother Gladness,
Good-morning, Sister Smile,
They told me you were coming,
So I waited on a while.
I’m lonesome here without you,
A weary while it’s been,
My heart is standing open,
Won’t you walk right in?

Good-morning, Brother Kindness,
Good-morning, Sister Cheer,
I heard you were out calling,
So I waited for you here.
Some way, I keep forgetting
I have to toil or spin
When you are my companions,
Won’t you walk right in?

9. In Bloom

       by Hannah Hockaday

The sparrows praised the morning sun,
He hugged the forest in his warm- outreached arms
The sun cascaded and grazed his fingers through every crisp leaf,
Over every sleepy tenant- illuminating their curiosity for each other

And the breeze laughed- happy to be alive
She laughed as she ruffed every tree,
All now fully dressed
She cackled down from the clouds and into every burrow

The family of trees just stood by watching the neighborhood awaken
Cousins rubbing elbows- Fathers shading their sproutlings
Creaking in quiet protest to the construction worker woodpeckers
Just happy at the turn of the weather

And the early blooming lilies gossiped to themselves
About the underdressed daisies
And the breeze disturbing their groomed leaves
And how the sun was too hot so early

The sky watching them all rejoicing,
For she wasn’t alone anymore,
Left with bleeding ears from the squirrels complaints of the cold
Landlord to to all she welcomed them back to her care
In bloom was it all, and all was in bloom

Beautiful Morning Poems

Wakey, wakey! Open your eyes to these beautiful poems about waking up in the morning that promise positivity and good luck. Not only do they encapsulate the charm of the morning but are also refreshing!

1. Birdie’s Morning Song

       by George Cooper

Wake up, little darling, the birdies are out,
And here you are still in your nest!
The laziest birdie is hopping about;
You ought to be up with the rest.
Wake up, little darling, wake up!
Oh, see what you miss when you slumber so long—
The dewdrops, the beautiful sky!
I can not sing half what you lose in my song;
And yet, not a word in reply.
Wake up, little darling, wake up!
I’ve sung myself quite out of patience with you,
While mother bends o’er your dear head;
Now birdie has done all that birdie can do:
Her kisses will wake you instead!
Wake up, little darling, wake up! 

2. I Love The Blush of Early Morn

       by William B. Tappan

I love the blush of early morn,
That beams with rosy hue;
When sparkling o’er the verdant lawn,
It gems the crystal dew.
‘Tis then I muse on Mary’s smile,
That dimpling bright and fair,
My sorrow always can beguile,
And charm each latent care.
I love the mildly pensive ray,
That lonely twilight cheers:
When gleaming at the close of day,
It shines through evening’s tears.
‘Tis then fond memory softly says,
While throbs my bosom move–
That such is Mary’s tender gaze,
And such her glance of love. 

3. Morning

       by Lucretia Maria Davidson

I come in the breath of the wakened breeze,
I kiss the flowers, and I bend the trees;
And I shake the dew, which hath fallen by night,
From its throne, on the lily’s pure bosom of white.
Awake thee, when bright from my couch in the sky,
I beam o’er the mountains, and come from on high;
When my gay purple banners are waving afar;
When my herald, gray dawn, hath extinguished each star;
When I smile on the woodlands, and bend o’er the lake,
Then awake thee, O maiden, I bid thee awake!
Thou mayst slumber when all the wide arches of Heaven
Glitter bright with the beautiful fire of even;
When the moon walks in glory, and looks from on high,
O’er the clouds floating far through the clear azure sky,
Drifting on like the beautiful vessels of Heaven,
To their far-away harbour, all silently driven,
Bearing on, in their bosoms, the children of light,
Who have fled from this dark world of sorrow and night;
When the lake lies in calmness and darkness, save where
The bright ripple curls, ‘neath the smile of a star;
When all is in silence and solitude here,
Then sleep, maiden, sleep! without sorrow or fear!
But when I steal silently over the lake,
Awake thee then, maiden, awake! oh, awake! 

4. Daybreak

       by Mary T. Lathrap

One time I stood in a valley,
Hemmed in by its walls of stone;
The day was fair on the uplands,
But still in my little zone
The mists and the fogs were heavy,
The silence was dim and lone.
The tree-tops were gaunt as shadows,
And men were like ghosts in gary,
Above were the fair skies hidden,
And the world was shut away
By the bounds of the narrow valley,
Where darkness hindered the day.
But swiftly up to the hilltops
In glory ascended the sun;
It smote through the fog like lances,
And scattered the mist where it hung,
Till lifting, they fled at the splendor
Of morning–the night-watch was done.
So truth may enter the narrows
Shut in by rocks and the night,
And often may wait in the shadows
The cause that is holy and right;
But God is abroad in the darkness,
His morning comes on with its light. 

5. A Summer Morning

       by Martha Lavinia Hoffman

Welcome, glad morning, night’s sable curtain
Rolls from the valley and mountains away;
Bursts the great sun forth in glorious splendor,
Herald of morning and king of the day!
Far in the distance the brooklet is singing,
The honey-bee hums o’er the fair, fragrant flower,
High in the tree-tops sweet bird songs are ringing;
And far to the west the tall mountain peaks tower.
Up in the oak tree, canaries sing gaily,
Linnets perch, chirping, on trellis and wall;
Sweet, merry warblers, ye gladden me, daily,
As down from the tree-tops your merry notes fall.
Beautiful picture, mountain and green wood,
Clad in rich robes, like a fairy queen’s song,
Radiant Summer! to thy great storehouse
All of these beauties and wonders belong. 

6. Song of Morning

       by Ruby Archer

I come, the maiden Morning,
With pearls about my hair.
I am so young, so elfin young,
And yet have many a task fulfilled
Before the older heads have willed
To call the day begun.
I’ve clad the hills in purple,
And freshened all the air,
For every bud a flower hung,
A dewy kiss the grasses flung,
And waked the sleepy sun.
I’ve hurried up the little birds,
And brought the breezes out,
And made them toss the forest’s hair
And put the bats to rout.
So now, good mortals, you may rise.
Come out and greet me, glad of eyes,—
I’ve made all fair, all fair. 

7. Wood Dove

       by Hilda Conkling

When morn in breaking
When the sun is rising over
dark, blue hills,
When mists go by
I hear a voice say
Coo . . . coo . . .
It is Mistress Wood Dove
Hidden and alone,
Glad of morning.
I call,
She answers:
Morning is sweeter
For her voice.

8. God Bless

       by Catherine Pulsifer

Good morning, let sunshine fill your heart
As you rise from sleep, and with it a fresh new start.
May God bless each movement of your day
With goodness and love in every way.
May you have peace of mind, joy in your heart
And blessings like no other can impart.

9. Early Morning

       by Deborah Seale

Early morning coffee,
Sunrise on shores of a sea.
Shades of green and blue,
Crabs playing a game of peek-a -boo.
Deep breaths of relaxation,
A sense of awe for all God’s creation.
His voice I do hear,
His presence is so very near.
As I sit with my eyes looking at the steam,
I hear Him say, “My children, I am coming to redeem”.
He has a great love for even the least,
So much so, He has called us to a great feast.
My heart screams out, “prepare, prepare”,
Please don’t be like those left in despair.
Early morning coffee,
Sunrise on shores of a sea.

Simple Morning Poems

If you are one of those people who do not get the complicated diction and symbolism in poetry, you will surely love these easy poems about the morning. Go on, you deserve this little treat!

1. The Sun’s Wooing

       by Emily Dickinson

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

She felt herself supremer, —
A raised, ethereal thing;
Henceforth for her what holiday!
Meanwhile, her wheeling king

Trailed slow along the orchards
His haughty, spangled hems,
Leaving a new necessity, —
The want of diadems!

The morning fluttered, staggered,
Felt feebly for her crown, —
Her unanointed forehead
Henceforth her only one.

2. Awake!

       by Althea Randolph

Awake! ‘Tis time for you to rise!
Awake! And open both your eyes!
The day is here, the sky is blue,
And all the World is calling you! 

3. Morning

       by Mary Bartol

Above the hills a saffron glow—
The heavenly azure deepens higher—
While through dark pines, gleams long and low
A floating lake of fire!
Within the grove fresh winds awake,
A little gush of song is heard,
And every plumy leaf of brake
By breezy sighs is stirred.
One moment’s chant—a hush profound—
Soft songs and ferny dances cease;
To silence dies the murmuring sound,
And motion glides to peace.
The dawn has come with ecstasy,
And I, a part of her and clay,
Breathe in the joy she giveth me,
And put my care away. 

4. Midsummer Morn

       by Clara Marcelle Farrar Greene

A wondrous blue of summer sky,
A dream of fair, sweet weather;
A floating cloud-band airily
Joined hand in hand together.
A rippling sea of upland grass,
By the daisy foam flecked over,
A fleet of butterflies sailing past
To anchor in the clover;
A gay flotilla on fairy wing,
By the summer breeze tossed brightly,
For the butterfly will is a fickle thing,
And his fancy changeth lightly.
An oriole with happy wing
Above her nested darlings;
In mother-pride all quivering
To tell her neighbor starlings.
A leaning wall of willow green,
A glimpse of shining river,
A wild-rose hedge–all, all has been
And will again forever!
O summer vision, flushed anew!
O morn of fair, sweet weather!
Life is still young and love is true,
And both divine together! 

5. The Reveille

       by Anonymous

It is made of the jubilant sparrows,
All chirping a different song,
And the song sparrow singing supremely,
So royally rippling along,
It is made of the chirruping robins
The orioles carolling gay
The pewees plaintively urgent
The trumpeting crow and the jay.
It is made of the yellowthroat’s whistle,
And the redstart’s sibilant rune,
Of the towhee’s militant summons,
And the vireo’s iterant tune.
It’s a rare and imperial chorus,
So jauntily merry and true;
Bird brothers! ’tis mightily pleasant
Beginning the day’s work with you! 

6. Morning

       by C. S. Calverley

’Tis the hour when white-horsed Day
Chases Night her mares away;
When the Gates of Dawn (they say)
Phœbus opes:
And I gather that the Queen
May be uniformly seen,
Should the weather be serene,
On the slopes.
When the ploughman, as he goes
Leathern-gaitered o’er the snows,
From his hat and from his nose
Knocks the ice;
And the panes are frosted o’er,
And the lawn is crisp and hoar,
As has been observed before
Once or twice.
When arrayed in breastplate red
Sings the robin, for his bread,
On the elmtree that hath shed
Every leaf;
While, within, the frost benumbs
The still sleepy schoolboy’s thumbs,
And in consequence his sums
Come to grief.
But when breakfast-time hath come,
And he’s crunching crust and crumb,
He’ll no longer look a glum
Little dunce;
But be brisk as bees that settle
On a summer rose’s petal:
Wherefore, Polly, put the kettle
On at once. 

7. Good-Morning, Day

       by Annette Wynne

Good morning, Day,
Whether cloud or sun,
The world’s begun
Again for work and play.
If I do my best,
God will tend the rest—
Working, loving, sharing all,
Making you, Day, beautiful.
Good morning, Day,
The world’s begun
For every one
For love and work and play!

8. A May Morning

       by Ellwood Roberts

The mist of early morning
Has slowly passed away,
A scene of rarest beauty
Unfolds where late it lay.
What can surpass in sweetness
The charm that dwells in May?
The wondrous fresh leaves glisten
In sunshine glad and bright;
The birds, in merry humor,
Give thanks for Spring’s sweet light;
The miracle of May-time
Bursts full upon the sight.
The whole green earth rejoices
In warmth and light to-day;
The scent of myriad blossoms
Is wafted far away.
Where is there other brightness
Like that we find in May? 

Short Morning Poems

Are you too impatient to read long poems that just go on and on forever? You shouldn’t be bothered, we cater to all kinds of readers. You can check out these short poems about morning.

1. Time to Rise

       by Robert Louis Stevenson

A birdie with a yellow bill
Hopped upon my window sill,
Cocked his shining eye and said:
“Ain’t you ‘shamed, you sleepy-head!” 

2. Morning

       by Jane Taylor

The lark is up to meet the sun,
The bee is on the wing,
The ant her labor has begun,
The woods with music ring.
Shall birds and bees and ants be wise,
While I my moments waste?
Oh, let me with the morning rise,
And to my duties haste.
Why should I sleep till beams of morn
Their light and glory shed?
Immortal beings were not born
To waste their time in bed. 

3. A Morning Prayer

       by Robert F. Skillings

As this new morning I awake,
I pray Thee Lord, for Jesus’ sake,
Help me, by wisdom from above,
Through all this day to dwell in love.

4. Get Up Early

       by Uncle Charles

The sun is uprising, the flowers are upspringing,
And the birds are so happy that they cannot help singing:
So wake, little children, you’ve had enough slumber;
Out of doors you will find there are joys without number.
The trees and the grass in the sun shine are gleaming;
In the fresh morning air the waters are streaming:
Oh! waste not in sleep all these beautiful hours:
Early rising is health; ask the birds and the flowers! 

5. Morn

       by Ruby Archer

The breath of Morn is softly taken,
All in little sighs,
As if unwilling to awaken,
With a dream prismatic shaken
Drifting from her eyes.
Waking bird-song thrills around her,
A breeze goes by her bower,
Now a butterfly has found her.
Lo—she breaks the dark that bound her,—
Opens like a flower. 

6. Morning

       by Anonymous

Darkness is banished and morning is here;
Gilding the heavens the sunbeams appear.
Songs of thanksgiving arise in the air;
Blossoms their beauty and perfume prepare
Dewdrops like diamonds flash on the grass
Bees in the meadows all hum as they pass.
Nature awaketh to gladden our heart,
For in her joyfulness all take a part. 

7. Autumn Blue Mist

       by Hilda Conkling

This is night’s own trailing wind
That goes by in blue mist
When morning wakes.
This is not smoke from chimneys,
No fire breathes and puffs it out
Across the sun.
This is autumn on an October morning . . .
Early hills,
Fields in a veil. 

Long Morning Poems

Fancy reading all day, eh? Yeah, poetry is beautiful like that! So assemble avid readers, we have collected these amazing long poetries about the morning that can keep your mind occupied today.

1. Thefts of The Morning

       by Edith Matilda Thomas

Bund us the Morning, mother of the stars
And of the winds that usher in the day!
Ere her light fingers slide the eastern bars,
A netted snare before her footsteps lay;
Ere the pale roses of the mist be strown,
Bind us the Morning, and restore our own!
With her have passed all things we held most dear,
Most subtly guarded from her amorous stealth;
We nothing gathered, toiling year by year,
But she hath claimed it for increase of wealth;
Our gems make bright her crown, incrust her throne:
Bind us the Morning, and restore our own!
Where are they gone, who round our myrtles played,
Or bent the vines’ rich fruitage to our hands,
Or breathed deep song from out the laurels’ shade?
She drew them to her; who can slack the bands?
What lure she used, what toils, was never known:
Bind us the Morning, and restore our own!
Enough that for her sake Orion died,
Slain by the silver Archer of the sky–
That Ilion’s prince amid her splendors wide
Lies chained by age, nor wins his prayer to die;
Enough! but hark! our captive loves make moan:
Bind us the Morning, and restore our own!
We have beheld them whom we lost of old,
Among her choiring Hours, in sorrow bowed.
A moment gleam their faces, faint and cold,
Through some high oriel window wreathed with cloud,
Or on the wind before her they are blown:
Bind us the Morning, and restore our own!
They do her service at the noiseless looms
That weave the misty vesture of the hills;
Their tears are drink to thirsting grass and blooms,
Their breath the darkling wood-bird wakes and thrills;
Us too they seek, but far adrift are thrown:
Bund us the Morning, and restore our own!
Yea, cry her Thief! from where the light doth break
To where it merges in the western deep!
If aught of ours she, startled, should forsake,
Such waifs the waiting Night for us will keep.
But stay not; still pursue her, falsely flown:
Bund us the Morning, and restore our own! 

2. The Morning Rainbow

       by Ellwood Roberts

Eastern sky at dawn was bright,
Glorious arose the sun;
Everywhere was brilliant light—
Day in beauty had begun.
But the West was overcast
With a cloud, foreboding storm;
Raindrops soon were falling fast,
Then appeared the rainbow’s form.
In the West, revealed to sight,
Stood the arch of color rare,
Perfect in the glowing light,
Yet a sign of sure storm there.
Rapidly the clouds o’erspread,
Gone the wondrous rainbow bright,
Gone the fair sweet morn—instead,
All around us gloom of night.
Came the warning not in vain,
Gloom-enshrouded heavens frown—
Ere an hour had passed the rain
Poured in dashing torrents down.
Through the long and gloomy day,
Till the afternoon was gone,
Fell the rain from clouds of gray;
Such the end to perfect dawn!
With this day, in promise bright,
Will some human lives compare;
Perfect is the dawn of light,
With a flush of color rare.
Bright the morn—too bright to last—
Comes the cloud, and falls the rain;
Soon is dawn’s effulgence past,
Early promise all in vain. 

3. Morning

       by Mary Oliver

Every morning
the world
is created.
Under the orange

sticks of the sun
the heaped
ashes of the night
turn into leaves again

and fasten themselves to the high branches–
and the ponds appear
like black cloth
on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.
If it is your nature
to be happy
you will swim away along the soft trails

for hours, your imagination
alighting everywhere.
And if your spirit
carries within it

the thorn
that is heavier than lead–
if it’s all you can do
to keep on trudging–

there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted–

each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
every morning,

whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray. 

4. The Sun Rising

       by John Donne

Busy old fool, unruly sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains call on us?
Must to thy motions lovers’ seasons run?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late school boys and sour prentices,
Go tell court huntsmen that the king will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices,
Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

Thy beams, so reverend and strong
Why shouldst thou think?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long;
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and tomorrow late, tell me,
Whether both th’ Indias of spice and mine
Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw’st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear, All here in one bed lay.

She’s all states, and all princes, I,
Nothing else is.
Princes do but play us; compared to this,
All honor’s mimic, all wealth alchemy.
Thou, sun, art half as happy as we,
In that the world’s contracted thus.
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
To warm the world, that’s done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;
This bed thy center is, these walls, thy sphere. 

5. A Spring Morning

       by Jean Lahor

THE crimson morning dazzled me mine eyes,
This, and the swarming sun-gold on the sea,
The sea that made me languish with its sighs
As of a woman rolling under me.
And the waves glittered even as tender eyes;
And swarms of white birds uttered joyous cries,
Wheeled, and plunged madly down, their plumes to soak
In waves that laughed with long foam as they broke.
The face of all things quivered with a smile;
It was a landscape vast of earth and sky;
And near upon the azure sea an isle,
Still swathed in mist, slept peacefully the while,
A flower in a vase of lapis lazuli.
And, lilies huge upon the heavens piled,
Beyond the cities and the azure plains,
Stretched in the distance giant mountain chains,
Whose summits, on a sky as satin mild,
Mingled their virgin whiteness with the hour’s;
And peach-trees pricked the blue with rosy flowers.
Enchanted by the beauty of the scene,
I walked beyond the town, when lo! a child,
Filthy and thin, with holes where eyes had been,
With scanty rags his chilblained body clad,
Stretched out his hand, and raised his face half-mad.
His mother ill, and father he had none,
Never his pain was soothed by a caress,
The sun alone kissed his foul ugliness,
And passers-by were hard to no man’s son.
Then I began to muse on Heaven’s ways,
On Evil’s vulture always eating at
The entrails of the universe, and that
Background of sorrow mute which not betrays
By tears its presence, beings who are bred
By chance, of children for their forbears’ sins
Punished, of Life’s iniquities, snares, gins,
Horrors and chastisements unmerited.
And near this child with empty orbits, I
Could gaze no more upon the glorious sky
Above earth’s blossoming garden, fearing lest
God in His justice meant them for a jest. 

Morning Poems That Rhyme

Poems are the best when they can rhyme, I mean they are so cool to read and you just wonder what excellent mind could’ve produced such magic. Here are such poems about the morning with rhyme.

1. March Morning

       by Edna Mead

A pale sun glints across the swirling drifts,
Bent trees are crackling with a silver load,
A wild gale shrieks in mischief as it lifts
A stinging screen of flakes across the road.
It seems midwinter still, and still the world
Lies wrapped in sleep upon the year’s high shelf,
But March is such a rogue, his challenge hurled
In fury cannot hide his other self.
A softer azure tints the sky’s cold blue,
Sometimes, for moments, all the wind is quiet,
Ice jewels melt to tears the rendezvous
Of ruffled sparrows teems with April riot.
Still roars the lion, but the lamb is bolder,
The madness has a subtle touch of play,
The night was Winter, but the Spring grown older,
Knows what a sham of Winter is today. 

2. Morning Mist

       by Ruby Archer

Young Morn treads lightly o’er the hills
With starry eyes.
Her presence all the darkness fills,
That, fainting, flies.
The world lies waiting at her feet
In quick suspense,
And all his being seems to beat
With pulse intense.
Her foot leaves silver on the dew
That kissing dies.
Her bosom’s dainty, rose-bud hue
Emblooms the skies.
Her softly taken breath but stirs
A dreamy cloud,
And moves the stately-standing firs
To homage proud.
About her floats in gauzy folds
A garment fine.
A glint of starry beams it holds,
And white moonshine.
Diaphanous, it trails and flees—
Half shadow-fraught—
And intervening are the trees
All dimly wrought.
How subtle charm, when half betrayed,
Where shadow broods,
On Rembrandt background, mind portrayed,
What eye eludes.
Thou, Morning, with thy mist-veiled grace
Art fairer far
Than if we saw thy radiant face
With naught to bar.
Ay, pensive Morn, thy misty dress
Thee well beseems,
For thou hast all thy loveliness,
And we—our dreams. 

3. Spring Morning

       by A. E. Housman

Star and coronal and bell
April underfoot renews,
And the hope of man as well
Flowers among the morning dews.
Now the old come out to look,
Winter past and winter’s pains.
How the sky in pool and brook
Glitters on the grassy plains.
Easily the gentle air
Wafts the turning season on;
Things to comfort them are there,
Though ’tis true the best are gone.
Now the scorned unlucky lad
Rousing from his pillow gnawn
Mans his heart and deep and glad
Drinks the valiant air of dawn.
Half the night he longed to die,
Now are sown on hill and plain
Pleasures worth his while to try
Ere he longs to die again.
Blue the sky from east to west
Arches, and the world is wide,
Though the girl he loves the best
Rouses from another’s side. 

4. Reveille

       by A.E Houseman

Wake: the silver dusk returning
Up the beach of darkness brims,
And the ship of sunrise burning
Strands upon the eastern rims.
Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters,
Trampled to the floor it spanned,
And the tent of night in tatters
Straws the sky-pavilioned land.
Up, lad, up, ’tis late for lying:
Hear the drums of morning play;
Hark, the empty highways crying
‘Who’ll beyond the hills away?’
Towns and countries woo together,
Forelands beacon, belfries call;
Never lad that trod on leather
Lived to feast his heart with all.
Up, lad: thews that lie and cumber
Sunlit pallets never thrive;
Morns abed and daylight slumber
Were not meant for man alive.
Clay lies still, but blood’s a rover;
Breath’s a ware that will not keep.
Up, lad: when the journey’s over
There’ll be time enough to sleep. 

5. Dawn in June

       by Ruby Archer

Oh, the freshness of the morning, the early morning rosy,
When the kiss of night, betrayed in dew, yet lingers on the leaves;
And the air brims o’er with sweetness, like a cool and fragrant posy;
And the wanton elves of sunshine frolic laughing ’round the eaves.
All the time the very instinct that impels the lark and swallow
To dart along the sunlight with quick-beating throat and wings,
Thrills the human heart with rapture ’till it fain would fly and follow,
And within the breast it trembles, and it sings—ah, how it sings! 

6. Let Us With A Gladsome Mind

       by Anonymous

Let us with a gladsome mind,
Praise the Lord for He is kind,
For His mercies shall endure,
Ever faithful, ever sure.
Children, come extol His might,
Join with saints and angels bright,
All our wants He doth supply,
Loves to hear our humble cry,
All things living He doth feed,
His full hand supplies their need,
Let us then with gladsome mind,
Praise the Lord for He is kind, 

7. Morning

       by Annette Wynne

Dear Lord, that takes the night,
Thank you for the morning light;
When little stars all hide away,
Thank you for the sun and day! 

Morning Poems for Her

Brighten up her day with these good morning poems for lovers. Let her know that you are thinking about her by making this sweet and warm gesture. We are sure she’ll love it!

1. Good Morning My Love

       by Samatha Lynch

Every day with you means so much
I love you and your touch
Your loving ways I do adore
Your kindness makes my heart soar.

When I wake up and see you there
I feel like I can do anything I dare
You light up my life more than you can imagine
I jump out of bed and spring into action.

Good morning my love
I thank the good Lord above
For the blessing of life with you
Have a great morning in all that you do. 

2. Bright Star, Would I Were Stedfast as Thou Art

       by John Keats

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art–
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors–
No–yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever–or else swoon to death. 

3. The Day Has Begun

       by Catherine Pulsifer

Good morning to you, the new day has begun,
May the sun shine on your face with joy and fun.
Now leave all your worries from yesterday behind,
Embrace this new start and watch what you can find.

May today be full of things that make you smile,
Stand tall, breathe deep and savor this moment for a while.
God bless you today as He gave His light,
Bringing hope for a new day both beautiful and bright! 

4. What A Great Day

       by Catherine Pulsifer

Good morning to you, what a great day,
Let us rejoice and smile away!
The birds are singing sweetly in the trees
And the weather is great, with only a soft breeze.

We never know what joy will bring,
But optimism our hearts can sing
Forget the past and yesterday’s strife,
Energize yourself, this day of your life.

Think of all that lies ahead,
Make the most of it time you’ve been fed
Choose to find the positive way,
Good morning, have an amazing day! 

5. I Hope You Know

       by Anonymous

Your beauty is beyond what words can say,
I really hope you wake up,
Read this and smile all day. 

6. My Sunshine

       by Anonymous

When I saw the sunlight,
I thought about your smile,
When I saw the day so bright,
I thought for a while,
I am missing you this morning,
Wish you a lovely morning my dear,
Keep smiling to spread the cheer! 

7. I Think of You On This Bright Morning

       by Anonymous

I can see the gleam of sunshine,
Am I remember your charming face,
And, taking you in my arms I wish I could embrace,
Wish you a very good morning my dear!

Morning Poems for Him

Share these morning poems with your beau to remind him that he is on your mind! You can email them or text them to him and he’ll definitely smile at the screen.

1. A Good Morning to You

       by Catherine Pulsifer

A good morning to you
Be the best at what you do.

Get up and give thanks
You get to fill in the blanks.

Today is a gift given to you
Do not spend it being blue.

You see, the world reflects
The attitude you project.

Stay positive and upbeat
The day is yours to complete. 

2. A Good One

       by Catherine Pulsifer

A good morning to you
It’s a morning that’s new.
My wish is for good things
That the entire day could bring.

A morning full of sunshine
A morning of all things fine
That is my wish for you
On this morning that is brand new.

A good day is in store for you
A good day of happiness nothing blue
That is my wish for you
A good day in all you do.

And when the evening is upon us
May you see it as a plus
As you look back on this day
And see it was a good one in every way. 

3. May Your Day Be Full

       by Catherine Pulsifer

Good morning to you, may your day be full
May sunshine throughout your day rule.
May any rain that falls be short-lived
May dreary weather not hold you captive.
As the day is what you make it
Be positive and happy, don’t quit! 

4. Lovely Morning

       by Anonymous

This morning as I opened my eyes,
The first thing in my mind was you,
So, I thought I should pick up the phone,
And send you wish so new,
On this day so bright,
So here is wishing you my love,
A very good morning to you! 

5. Time to Start The Day

       by Catherine Pulsifer

It’s time to start your day,
Wake up and get on the move.
Sleeping in is nice,
But you’ve got lots to prove.

You’ll prove to yourself,
That anything is in your grip.
All it takes is hard work,
With yourself as the whip.

Anything you want to do,
Understand it can be done.
As long as you stop wasting,
The day that has just begun.

So wake up and rise and shine,
This day is just for you.
I can’t wait to see,
What it is that you will do! 

6. This Morning My Love

       by Anonymous

On this lovely morning,
I want to wish you all the love and luck,
May your day be filled with awesome cheer,
May your day be fantastic my dear,
Good morning as I wish you,
For this day so chirpy and new,
Have a nice day! 

Sunday Morning Poems

Sunday mornings are the best for lazy pandas and let’s face it, we are all lazy pandas on a Sunday, duh! Why shouldn’t we be? They are perfect for staying in bed reading poems like these!

1. Sunday Morning

       by Anonymous

Down the road someone is practising scales,
The notes like little fishes vanish with a wink of tails,
Man’s heart expands to tinker with his car
For this is Sunday morning, Fate’s great bazaar;
Regard these means as ends, concentrate on this Now,

And you may grow to music or drive beyond Hindhead anyhow,
Take corners on two wheels until you go so fast
That you can clutch a fringe or two of the windy past,
That you can abstract this day and make it to the week of time
A small eternity, a sonnet self-contained in rhyme.

But listen, up the road, something gulps, the church spire
Open its eight bells out, skulls’ mouths which will not tire
To tell how there is no music or movement which secures
Escape from the weekday time. Which deadens and endures.

2. Sunday Morning Treasure

       by Barbara Maxwell Deraoui

It’s Sunday morning
People are just waking up
Searching for their coffee
The sun is out shining

It’s Sunday Morning Treasure

People are walking about
Cafés full of breakfasters
Cities waking up
Everyone has the slows

It’s Sunday Morning Treasure

Newspapers sit on sidewalks
Street vendors full of magazines and papers
Stores getting ready for another day

It’s Sunday Morning Treasure 

3. Sunday Morning

       by Wallace Stevens


Complacencies of the peignoir, and late
Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair,
And the green freedom of a cockatoo
Upon a rug mingle to dissipate
The holy hush of ancient sacrifice.
She dreams a little, and she feels the dark
Encroachment of that old catastrophe,
As a calm darkens among water-lights.
The pungent oranges and bright, green wings
Seem things in some procession of the dead,
Winding across wide water, without sound.
The day is like wide water, without sound,
Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet
Over the seas, to silent Palestine,
Dominion of the blood and sepulchre.


Why should she give her bounty to the dead?
What is divinity if it can come
Only in silent shadows and in dreams?
Shall she not find in comforts of the sun,
In pungent fruit and bright, green wings, or else
In any balm or beauty of the earth,
Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven?
Divinity must live within herself:
Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow;
Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued
Elations when the forest blooms; gusty
Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights;
All pleasures and all pains, remembering
The bough of summer and the winter branch.
These are the measures destined for her soul.


Jove in the clouds had his inhuman birth.
No mother suckled him, no sweet land gave
Large-mannered motions to his mythy mind.
He moved among us, as a muttering king,
Magnificent, would move among his hinds,
Until our blood, commingling, virginal,
With heaven, brought such requital to desire
The very hinds discerned it, in a star.
Shall our blood fail? Or shall it come to be
The blood of paradise? And shall the earth
Seem all of paradise that we shall know?
The sky will be much friendlier then than now,
A part of labor and a part of pain,
And next in glory to enduring love,
Not this dividing and indifferent blue.


She says, “I am content when wakened birds,
Before they fly, test the reality
Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings;
But when the birds are gone, and their warm fields
Return no more, where, then, is paradise?”
There is not any haunt of prophecy,
Nor any old chimera of the grave,
Neither the golden underground, nor isle
Melodious, where spirits gat them home,
Nor visionary south, nor cloudy palm
Remote on heaven’s hill, that has endured
As April’s green endures; or will endure
Like her remembrance of awakened birds,
Or her desire for June and evening, tipped
By the consummation of the swallow’s wings.


She says, “But in contentment I still feel
The need of some imperishable bliss.”
Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her,
Alone, shall come fulfilment to our dreams
And our desires. Although she strews the leaves
Of sure obliteration on our paths,
The path sick sorrow took, the many paths
Where triumph rang its brassy phrase, or love
Whispered a little out of tenderness,
She makes the willow shiver in the sun
For maidens who were wont to sit and gaze
Upon the grass, relinquished to their feet.
She causes boys to pile new plums and pears
On disregarded plate. The maidens taste
And stray impassioned in the littering leaves.


Is there no change of death in paradise?
Does ripe fruit never fall? Or do the boughs
Hang always heavy in that perfect sky,
Unchanging, yet so like our perishing earth,
With rivers like our own that seek for seas
They never find, the same receding shores
That never touch with inarticulate pang?
Why set the pear upon those river-banks
Or spice the shores with odors of the plum?
Alas, that they should wear our colors there,
The silken weavings of our afternoons,
And pick the strings of our insipid lutes!
Death is the mother of beauty, mystical,
Within whose burning bosom we devise
Our earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly.


Supple and turbulent, a ring of men
Shall chant in orgy on a summer morn
Their boisterous devotion to the sun,
Not as a god, but as a god might be,
Naked among them, like a savage source.
Their chant shall be a chant of paradise,
Out of their blood, returning to the sky;
And in their chant shall enter, voice by voice,
The windy lake wherein their lord delights,
The trees, like serafin, and echoing hills,
That choir among themselves long afterward.
They shall know well the heavenly fellowship
Of men that perish and of summer morn.
And whence they came and whither they shall go
The dew upon their feet shall manifest.


She hears, upon that water without sound,
A voice that cries, “The tomb in Palestine
Is not the porch of spirits lingering.
It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay.”
We live in an old chaos of the sun,
Or old dependency of day and night,
Or island solitude, unsponsored, free,
Of that wide water, inescapable.
Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail
Whistle about us their spontaneous cries;
Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness;
And, in the isolation of the sky,
At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make
Ambiguous undulations as they sink,
Downward to darkness, on extended wings. 

4. Sunday Morning

       by Ruby Archer

How sweet to wait within a holy place
The hour of song and prayer,
To yield the heart unto a spell of grace,
Serenely brooding like a presence there.
The hymns that live within the organ’s heart,
Flow silent o’er the soul;
Unsounded echoes from the memory start,
Like mystic writing from an angel’s scroll. 

Winter Morning Poems

Chilly winter mornings are unbeatable! That is why we kept this category reserved for the end. The wait is over and this collection of warm and cozy winter morning poems is like a cuddle!

1. Winter Morning

       by Ogden Nash

Winter is the king of showmen,
Turning tree stumps into snow men
And houses into birthday cakes
And spreading sugar over lakes.
Smooth and clean and frosty white,
The world looks good enough to bite.
That’s the season to be young,
Catching snowflakes on your tongue!
Snow is snowy when it’s snowing.
I’m sorry it’s slushy when it’s going. 

2. Early Morning Winter Walk

       by James A. Tweedie

Footprints follow like a shadow as I walk
Through early morning snow as white as powdered chalk.
Dragon-steam appears with each expired breath
Embraced by frigid-fingered air as cold as death.

Crystal-laden dune grass bows beneath its load
And ice-etched, frozen puddles line the frosty road.
Tree limbs rimed in tatted lace-like filigree
Host winter birds engaged in witty repartee

Beach path slithers like an alabaster snake
As dawn-light stirs the sleeping, ice-bound world awake.
Rising surf wipes white-washed beach sand slate-board clean
As Eos bathes the morning clouds in opaline.

Dayspring fantasy—a fleeting moment in
A dream world made of diamond-crusted porcelain. 

3. Winter Morning

       by James Crews

When I can no longer say thank you
for this new day and the waking into it,
for the cold scrape of the kitchen chair
and the ticking of the space heater glowing
orange as it warms the floor near my feet,
I know it’s because I’ve been fooled again
by the selfish, unruly man who lives in me
and believes he deserves only safety
and comfort. But if I pause as I do now,
and watch the streetlights outside flashing
off one by one like old men blinking their
cloudy eyes, if I listen to my tired neighbors
slamming car doors hard against the morning
and see the steaming coffee in their mugs
kissing chapped lips as they sip and
exhale each of their worries white into
the icy air around their faces—then I can
remember this one life is a gift each of us
was handed and told to open: Untie the bow
and tear off the paper, look inside
and be grateful for whatever you find
even if it is only the scent of a tangerine
that lingers on the fingers long after
you’ve finished peeling it. 

4. A Cold Winter’s Morning

       by Francis Duggan

The elms stand naked their brown leaves on the ground
On the gravel path by the winds scattered around
The overnight frost has left the park looking gray
Just after daybreak on a cold Winter’s day.

The magpie on the blackwood tree seems brave to sing
He sings all year round though more often in Spring
But his voice sounds melodious at all times of year
And on a frosty morning so pleasant to hear.

The sparrows in the parkland are chirping away
In all sorts of weather they chirp through the day
Weavers classified as songbirds though that seems a bit wrong
Since sparrows as such they do not have a song.

A cold and frosty morning around zero degrees
The currawongs calling on the tall gum trees
Some say they sing their loudest prior to and during rain
And their currawong notes they repeat over and again.

A cold Winter’s morning the park gray to white
Will green in the sun from the frost overnight
And the song of the magpie one cannot mistake
He sings on the blackwood just after daybreak. 

5. Winter Morning

       by Alexander Pushkin

Cold frost and sunshine: day of wonder!
But you, my friend, are still in slumber —
Wake up, my beauty, time belies:
You dormant eyes, I beg you, broaden
Toward the northerly Aurora,
As though a northern star arise!

Recall last night, the snow was whirling,
Across the skyline, haze was twirling,
The moon, as though a pale dye,
Emerged in yellow through faint clouds.
And there you sat, immersed in doubts —
And now… just look outside:

The snow below the azure skies,
As though a magic carpet lies,
And in the light of day it shimmers.
The woods are dusky. Through the frost
The light-green fir-trees are exposed;
And under ice, a river glitters.

The room is lit with amber light.
And bursting, popping with delight
The oven rattles in a fray.
While it is nice to hear its clatter,
Perhaps, we should command to saddle
A fervent mare into the sleight?

And sliding on the morning snow
Dear friend, we’ll let our worries go,
And with the zealous mare we’ll flee.
We’ll visit open valleys, thence,
The forests, which were once so dense,
And then the shore, so dear to me. 

6. A Winter Morning

       by Amitava Sur

A gloomy morning
With thick fog and dew
Being so chilled and shivering,
Looking through my poorly visible glass panes,
I find grass tips in my small lawn in front –
Are bathing with dew drops in abundance.
They are undulating merrily
Like gleaming Lapis Lazuli.
Tiny seasonal flowers
Seem to be fluttering their petals
With a big smile on their faces.

A shivering foggy winter morning
Thus looks so mystic and divine. 

7. On A Cold Winter Morning

       by Meetika Srivastava

On a cold winter morning when life is pregnant with wintry thoughts; and words dropp like dew softly and gently down my mind, I sat near the window and peeped outside to have a quick glance of the misty, foggy pathway. Slowly and steadily the smog is clearing and the sun is waking to a morning bright. Hey! Wait, I hear a voice calling, Ah! That’s mom saying where are you darling? Just hold on this thought this time to wish mom good morning………..
…………..I’m back with a cup of hot tea with ginger’s smell to ease my cold throat & catch the morning news… Oh! God not again why’s there so much commotion? .. two passenger trains collided….a bus ran over an eight years old school going kid….. the blast took place at 5 o’ clock; 100 people died and several injured…No…No …Have I switched on the TV to see all this? Alas! My morning was bright but my day got saddened and herein I lament…God’s paradise earth is crying!

Final Thoughts

Utilize the lines from these poems about good morning to make someone’s day. Send them to others as a morning greeting.

Making a good first impression might make the difference between having a good or bad day. And the kind of day we shall have usually depends on how we feel when we get up.

Reading good morning poems can help you think about the positive ideas you might simply need to stay in a good mood for the rest of the day.

Whatever your reason or situation, these poems for the morning are a must-read!

If you enjoyed reading these morning poems, do share them with others!

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