Spring Morning

The morn is but a blushing May,
From dewy sheets of night;
The birds awaken, sing alway,
In jubilant delight.

Through budding leaves, the sunbeams break,
And dance upon the flowers,
Each petals’ whisper, softly take,
From nature’s sacred bowers.

The fragrant breeze, with gentle hands,
Caresses every tree;
In quietude the spirit stands,
And shades his joy with glee.

• Lydia Sigourney