The air is sweet with meadow grass, The fields are wrapt in dew. A thousand flowers that ne’er shall pass Drift on the morn anew. Where brook and foliage twist and twine The thrush sings in the tree, And in the blossoms rain divine A whisper comes to me. I find the joy of life is sweet, In every breath I draw; In laughter’s echo, far and fleet, In every hidden law.

• Sarah Orne Jewett