And every wither'd stump and mossy stone
With gems encrusted and with seed-pearls sown!
Mrs. Whitman.
7. When May,
With her cap crown'd with roses,
Stands in her holiday dress in the fields, and the wind and the brooklet
Murmur gladness and peace, God's peace! with lips rosy tinted,
Whisper the race of the flowers, and merry, on balancing branches,
Birds are singing their carol, a jubilant hymn to the Highest.
Longfellow.