And to the peetweet’s brood amid the marshes wild.
While these awake to toil and those awake to play,
How glad are all that breathe, that night has winged away!
For light and life are friends, and night their ancient foe.
Awake, ye birds, to song, ye buds, begin to blow!
[THE BLOSSOMS OF TO-MORROW]
The sun was shining, after rain,
The garden gleamed and glistened;
I heard a humblebee complain—