What a sweet atmosphere of melody
And coolness falls upon the troubled heart,
Like oil upon the wave. Dance on--dance on--
Ye couriers of the sun--full-throated choir;
And sky-ward fling your sobbing psalmody--
A sunrise offering to the coming day.
On--on: still higher! Still rolls the torrent down,
Bearing the soul up in a cloud of sprays,
The world seems deluged with a golden shower:
Myriads of larks trill out their morning psalm,
As though the stars were changed to silver bells
Timbrelling forth their sweet melodious bursts
In joyous welcome of the maiden Morn.