The golden nurslings of the May In splendor strew the spangled green, Mark how the rippled currents flow; Or borne afar our blissful youth? We know the whisper was not truth. The birds that break from grass and grove O Earth's betrothal, sweet and true, Of floral fays shall make you queen. What though there comes a time of pain When autumn winds forbode decay? The days of love are born again; That fabled time is far away! And never seemed the land so fair EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. THE STORY OF A SUMMER DAY. O PERFECT Light, which shaid away Thy glory, when the day forth flies, The shining sun is clear. The shadow of the earth anon Which soon perceive the little larks, The lapwing and the snipe, And time their songs, like Nature's clerks, O'er meadow, muir, and stripe. Our hemisphere is polished clean, And lightened more and more; While everything is clearly seen, Which seemed dim before; Except the glistering astres bright, Which all the night were clear, Offusked with a greater light No longer do appear. The golden globe incontinent For joy the birds with boulden throats In woods and gardens green. The dew upon the tender crops, Refreshes all the ground. The misty reek, the clouds of rain From tops of mountains skails, Clear are the highest hills and plain, The vapors take the vales. |