The meadow air is sweet,—
The cowslip’s cup of gold
Is full of fresh and fragrant dew,—
More full than it can hold.
The meadow air is sweet,—
The blackbird’s mellow note,
Like water in a little brook,
Flows gurgling from his throat.
The meadow air is sweet,—
The stream that cheers the lea
Will feel the willow’s tender kiss,
E’en to the distant sea.
The meadow air is sweet,—
Hark! from the old elm tree—
Ah! only lovers understand
The oriole’s ecstasy.
The meadow air is sweet,—
The clover, handsome—white,
With dainty odors woos the bee,
And fills her with delight.
The meadow air is sweet,—
The bobolink is there!
When he is mute a faery flute
Seems echoing in the air.
The meadow air is sweet,—
The daisy in the grass
Looks up to see the clouds, and feel
Their shadow as they pass.
The meadow air is sweet,—
The swallow flashes by,
Too merry for a moment’s rest
Between the earth and sky.
The meadow air is sweet,—
The day wanes in the west,
And twilight’s soothing shadows lull
The weary world to rest.