Each flower awakened Showers a blessing fair,And every sweetness wafts Upon the air.
Sometimes a wild bird, Startled from her nest,In darting, upward flight Wends her swift course—
Then dropping lightly, Borne by eager wings,Atilt the bending grass, She rocks and sings.
Or swiftly running, Bonded spirit free,Her haunting cry trills out Its harmony.
And all the rapture Given vent at last,Floats out untouched and pure, And unsurpassed.
A truth unstudied, Past our feeble art;Like fleeting dreams, her songs Rise from the heart.
Page Thirty-six
