"A June Morning" by John Rollin Ridge
In vestments rich and rare,
Like girlhood dressed in flowing robes,
With waves of golden hair.
A blessing's in her hand for man,
A gift of peace and light;
For while she walks the fields of Heaven
She plucks their treasures bright.
The birds, those poets of the sky
Whose voices ne'er grow old,
With gladness sing, and plume their wings
Of satin and of gold.
The partridge through the thicket runs,
Clear whistling to his mate—
What knoweth he of grief or pain?
He never heard of fate!
The deer upon the hills have seen
The coming of fair morn,
And haste to crop the grass all wet
With dew-drops from her horn;
The proud old buck with antlered head,
The nimble-footed doe,
The fawn with eye of innocence
And skin like calico!
And over all the eagle soars
In regal majesty,
His gray wing reddening in yon cloud
That decks the eastern sky;
On mightier wing than aught that flies,
With keen, far-reaching eye,
He soars like genius in the blaze
Of Immortality!
And man, whose fancy mounts on high
E'en where the angels sing,
Immortal man looks up from earth,
And envies him his wing.
Well may each living thing rejoice,
For never yet was born,
Beneath the eternal eye of God,
A fresher, lovelier morn!