From every shrub and painted flower
Dew-drops distill in silvery shower;
Sweet perfumes load the air; the song
Of waking birds is borne along
Upon the bosom of the breeze
That murmurs through the waving trees;
The crystal brook that dances by
Gleams in the sunlight merrily;
All tells of joy, and love, and life—
All?—Said I everything was rife