HOW THE MORNING COMES.
Cheery, cheery,
Out of the dreary
Dark there glows
A tint of yellow, a purple gleam,
A shine of silver, a brazen beam,
A flush of rose;
The darkness, meanwhile, flying, gone:
Thus does the morning dawn.
Creeping, creeping,
Daintily peeping,
Hastes the light
Through the window to see where lies
The little girl with the sleepy eyes;
Glistens bright
With very joy to find the place
Where lies her dreaming face.
Drowsy, drowsy,
A little frowzy
Gold-locked head
Turns on its pillow, yawns, and winks;
Lifts from its pillow, peeps, and blinks;
Turns in bed;
Then with a slow, reluctant shake,
Is almost wide awake.
Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.
