THE MORNING WALK

The linnet sat upon its nest, By gales of morning softly prest, His green wing and his greener breast Were damp with dews of morning: The dog-rose near the oaktree grew, Blush'd swelling 'neath a veil of dew, A pink's nest to its prickles grew, Right early in the morning.

The sunshine glittered gold, the while A country maiden clomb the stile; Her straw hat couldn't hide the smile That blushed like early morning. The lark, with feathers all wet through, Looked up above the glassy dew, And to the neighbouring corn-field flew, Fanning the gales of morning.

In every bush was heard a song, On each grass blade, the whole way long, A silver shining drop there hung, The milky dew of morning. Where stepping-stones stride o'er the brook The rosy maid I overtook. How ruddy was her healthy look, So early in the morning!

I took her by the well-turned arm, And led her over field and farm, And kissed her tender cheek so warm, A rose in early morning. The spiders' lacework shone like glass, Tied up to flowers and cat-tail grass; The dew-drops bounced before the lass, Sprinkling the early morning.

Her dark curls fanned among the gales, The skylark whistled o'er the vales, I told her love's delightful tales Among the dews of morning. She crop't a flower, shook oft' the dew, And on her breast the wild rose grew; She blushed as fair, as lovely, too— The living rose of morning.