There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren,
And the gossip of swallows through all the sky;
The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den,
And the wilding-bee hums merrily by.
The clouds are at play in the azure space,
And their shadows at play on the bright green vale,
And here they stretch to frolic chase,
And there they roll on the easy gale.
There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower;
There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree;