Spring Morning

The night was dark o’er the level hedge,
And the bells were early ringing then,

After, the sun rose up from the stormy sea,
And the people left - I know not when -

While the schooners coursed upon the bay,
The broad backed sailors cleaned rigging then,

As the hounds all barked at the postman’s step,
The master winds back - they know not when -

Throughout the land, there are silver songs,
And the scriveners shall be happy then,

And the pastor’s daughter dons her smock,
So fleet of foot - to class again -

But her friend, the smith, with kindness greets
The lass with printed books and pen,

They both set forth, the highway’s dust,
To part once more - I know not when -

And I tell my thoughts to a priestly boy,
A benediction and prayers again,

And I turn away toward the rising sun -
To quaff that drink, O ne’er again!

So on the fields, there are farms and yields,
As cities fill with many men,

There are silver bells, and merry bells,
Which we listen to, O now and then!

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