We watch for the light of the morn to break
And color the eastern sky
With its blended hues of saffron and lake,
Then say to each other, "Awake! awake!
For our winter's honey is all to make,
And our bread for a long supply!"
Then, off we hie to the hill and the dell,
To the field, the meadow and bower.
In the columbine's horn we love to dwell,
To dip in the lily with snow-white bell,
To search the balm in its odorous cell,
The mint and the rosemary-flower.
We seek the bloom of the eglantine,
Of the painted thistle and brier;
And follow the steps of the wandering vine,
Whether it trail on the earth, supine,
Or round the aspiring tree-top twine,
And reach for a state still higher.
As each, on the good of her sisters bent,
Is busy and cares for all;
We hope for an evening with hearts content,
For the winter of life without lament
That summer is gone with its hours misspent,
And the harvest is past recall!