It dawns. Smiling, the birds

tender concert, melodious, they tune,

intoning as festival, clear dawn,

the sweet matutinal symphony.

Slow and rosy the sun raises. It goes, for the road,

the breeze breathing... Fog flakes

wander, shining like gold. In the foliage,

a telling in secret of flowers one imagine.

The tremulous, dewy corymbs,

they waive, they shine, like diamonds,

through the bloomy prairie out...

Flowers curve the stalks once in a while;

and, joyful and enraptured, they go greeting