With silken folds falling and rising again,
As scent-laden wind o'er their soft billows plays;
Enraptured, she basks in the blue summer haze,
Till bliss is dissolved into tear-laden showers,
That drench all the trees and refresh all the flowers.
As softly they fall on the roof o'er our heads,
O, the sleep-haunted rapture their lullaby sheds!
Though harvest with plenty his gran'ries hath filled,
The murmuring pessimist never is stilled.
He says, as he brushes the sweat from his brow,