How precious is the morning dew, That beads upon the leaves anew; It holds the sunbeam’s gentle kiss, A fleeting moment full of bliss.

Each petal, bright with color’s beam, Reflects light like a waking dream. The woods are hushed, the air so clear, In nature’s presence, we draw near.

With every gust, the trees do sway, The dawn of peace, the start of day. Each note of bird, a tranquil tune, As nature whispers to the moon.

• Elizabeth Barrett Browning