This morning's sun peeped in
Invitingly, as though to win
My footsteps fieldwards, just one day in seven!
The thought of hedgerows was like opening heaven,
And the stray sunray's gleam,
Threading the dingy blind,
Seemed part of a sweet dream,
For in our sleep the Fates are sometimes kind.
"Come out!" it said, "but not with weary tread,
And feet of lead,