Along the east strange glories burn,
And kindling lights leap high and higher,
As morning from her azure urn
Pours forth her golden fire.
From rush and reed, from bush and brake,
Float countless jeweled gossamers,
That glance and dazzle as they shake
In every breeze that stirs.
A bird, upspringing from the grain,
Flutes loud and clear his raptured note,
That mingles with as blithe a strain
As e'er thrilled human throat.
Amid the tasseled ranks of corn
She stands breast-high; her arms are bare;
And round her warm brown neck the morn
Gleams on her lustrous hair.
The sickle flashes in her hand;
The dew laves both her naked feet;
She reaps and sings, and through the land
She sends her carols sweet.
The wind breathes softly on her brow;
To touch her lips tall blossoms seek;
And as the stricken columns bow,
They kiss her glowing cheek.
