No sound to break the calm is heard,
Save crickets' chirp or trill of bird.
The frequent fireflies' fitful gleam,
The star of morning's lucent beam,
Shine mirrored in the glassy stream,
In whose clear depths are pictured seen
The drooping boughs and foliage green
Of graceful trees that o'er it lean.
II
Glows in the kindling East a blush,