MAY MORNING.
BY L. E. L.
Up with the morning, and up with the sun,
Night, with its dreams and its shadows, is done;
The lilac's small stars in their thousands arise,
While the garden is filled with their languishing sighs,
I must away with the earliest hours,
To gather the may-dew that lies in the flowers.
The yellow laburnum, the spendthrift of spring,
How lavish the wealth which its bright branches fling,
Is rich as the bough which the sybil of yore
To chase the dark spirits of Acheron bore.
Ah yet, at the sight of its gladness, depart
The shadows that gather in gloom o'er the heart.
The violets open their eyes in the grass,
Each one has a dew-drop to serve as a glass;
Last night in their shelter the fairy queen slept;
And to thank the sweet watch o'er her sleep which they kept,
