All day in garden alleys moist and dim,

The humid air is burdened with the rose;

In moss-deep woods the creamy orchid blows;

And now the vesper-sparrows' pealing hymn

From every orchard close

At eve comes flooding rich and silvery;

The daisies in great meadows swing and shine;

And with the wind a sound as of the sea

Roars in the maples and the topmost pine.

High in the hills the solitary thrush

Tunes magically his music of fine dreams,

In briary dells, by boulder-broken streams;

And wide and far on nebulous fields aflush

The mellow morning gleams.

The orange cone-flowers purple-bossed are there,

The meadow's bold-eyed gypsies deep of hue,

And slender hawkweed tall and softly fair,

And rosy tops of fleabane veiled with dew.

So with thronged voices and unhasting flight

The fervid hours with long return go by;

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