Morning.
By Jean Blewett
The eastern sky grew all aglow,
A tinted fleet sailed just below.
The thick wood and the clinging mist
Slow parted, wept good-bye, and kissed.
To primrose, tulip, daffodil,
The wind came piping gay and shrill:
"Wake up! wake up! while day is new,
And all the world is washed with dew!"