Overhead the sky of morning
Gives of goodly weather sign;
From the milking to the meadows
Slowly go the lowing kine.
Fall in sparks of fire the dew-drops
From the overburdened leaves;
Flit from bough to bough the peewees;
Hum the mud-wasps at the eaves.
Mists that recent wrapped the valley
Now are sweeping o’er the hills;