Sweet messengers of morn,
And drops hang glistening after rain
Like gems on every thorn;
What though the grass is moist and rank
Where dews fall from the tree,
The creeping sun smiles on the bank
And warms a seat for thee.
The eager morning earlier wakes
To glad thy fond desires,
And oft its rosy bed forsakes
Ere night's pale moon retires;
Sweet shalt thou feel the morning sun
To warm thy dewy breast,
And chase the chill mist's purple dun
That lingers in the west.
Her dresses Nature gladly trims,
To hail thee as her queen,
And soon shall fold thy lovely limbs
In modest garb of green:
Each day shall like a lover come
Some gifts with thee to share,
And swarms of flowers shall quickly bloom
To dress thy golden hair.
All life and beauty warm and smile
Thy lovely face to see,
And many a hopeful hour beguile
In seeking joys with thee:
The sweetest hours that ever come
Are those which thou dost bring,
And sure the fairest flowers that bloom
Are partners of the Spring.