Читать книгу Poems - Henry Reed Conant - Страница 6

Table of Contents

When all the air was filled with song

At morning’s early beam,

In musing mood I strolled along

Beside a placid stream.

And as I roved the meadow sweet,

What bade my heart rejoice?

Was it the daisies at my feet?

Nay, nor the songster’s voice.

For glancing toward the crystal stream

I spied a little child,

Upon whose brow the morning beam,

With all its beauty smiled:

And on her cheek, so wondrous fair,

I saw the ruddy glow,—

Beheld her locks of flaxen hair

Wave gently to and fro.

Then with delight I nearer drew,

But lo! here ends my theme;

I waked—the fairy fled my view—

’Twas but a happy dream.