Who totters forth, wrapp'd in a gauzy veil,
Out of her chamber, led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,
The moon arises on the murky earth.
Shelley.
17. Morning in your garden, when each leaf of crisped green
Hangs tremulous in diamonds, with em'rald rays between.
It is the birth of nature, baptized in early dew,
The plants look meekly up and smile as if their God they knew.
Mrs. Gilman.