That is Morning. To cease for a bright hour to be a prisoner of this sickly body & to become as large as the World.
Every man that goes into the wood seems to be the first man that ever went into a wood. His sensations & his World are new. You really think that nothing new can be said about morning & evening. And the fact is morning & evening have not yet begun to be described. When I see them I am not reminded of these Homeric or Miltonic or Shakespearean or Chaucerian pictures, but I feel a pain of an alien world or I am cheered with the moist, warm, glittering, budding, & melodious hour that takes down the narrow walls of my soul & extends its life & pulsation to the very horizon. That is Morning. To cease for a bright hour to be a prisoner of this sickly body & to become as large as the World.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Journals and Miscellaneous Notebooks 5:469