The mist has left the greening plain,
The dew-drops shine like fairy rain,
The coquette rose awakes again
Her lovely self adorning.
The Wind is hiding in the trees,
A sighing, soothing, laughing tease,
Until the rose says "kiss me, please"
'Tis morning, 'tis morning.
With staff in hand and careless-free,
The wanderer fares right jauntily,
For towns and houses are, thinks he,
For scorning, for scorning,
My soul is swift upon the wing,
And in its deeps a song I bring;
come, Love, and we together sing,
" 'Tis morning, 'tis morning."
This poem is in the public domain.