Full many a glorious morning have I seen...

That title from my man Willie the Shakes' 33rd sonnet. It was in my head this morning as I stepped onto the porch to slop the herd. "s'cuse me boys, I gotta go get a shot of that brilliant dawn."

 Love Calls Us to the Things of This World
— Richard Wilbur
The eyes open to a cry of pulleys,
And spirited from sleep, the astounded soul  
Hangs for a moment bodiless and simple  
As false dawn.
                     Outside the open window  
The morning air is all awash with angels.
(more poem at linky)

 Will There Really Be a "Morning?"
— 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 Men from the skies!
Please to tell a little Pilgrim
Where the place called "Morning" lies! 
 
gamblers all
— Charles Bukowski
sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think,

I'm not going to make it, but you laugh inside

remembering all the times you've felt that way, and

you walk to the bathroom, do your toilet, see that face

in the mirror, oh my oh my oh my, but you comb your hair anyway,

get into your street clothes, feed the cats, fetch the

newspaper of horror, place it on the coffee table, kiss your

wife goodbye, and then you are backing the car out into life itself,

like millions of others you enter the arena once more.
(the rest of the poem at the link)

Morning
— Billy Collins
Why do we bother with the rest of the day,
the swale of the afternoon,
the sudden dip into evening,

then night with his notorious perfumes,
his many-pointed stars?

This is the best—
throwing off the light covers,
feet on the cold floor,
and buzzing around the house on espresso—
(more poem aquí)