Oh, the freshness of the morning, the early morning rosy,
When the kiss of night, betrayed in dew, yet lingers on the leaves;
And the air brims o'er with sweetness, like a cool and fragrant posy;
And the wanton elves of sunshine frolic laughing 'round the eaves.
All the time the very instinct that impels the lark and swallow
To dart along the sunlight with quick-beating throat and wings,
Thrills the human heart with rapture 'till it fain would fly and follow,
And within the breast it trembles, and it sings—ah, how it sings!
