Across the dewy prairie
The morning wind is borne,
Beyond the new-mown hayfields,
And through the tasseled corn.
Upon the silver-maples
It lifts the swinging leaves,
And steals a subtile sweetness
From rows of golden sheaves.
Within the sunny orchard
The harvest apples fall,
While from the tossing branches
The saucy jay-birds call.
In crinkled, fringy clusters
The scarlet poppies burn,
Where, softly opening, eastward
The yellow sunflowers turn.
And nibbling in the garden,
Between the cherry trees,
I see a robber rabbit
Among the pink sweet-peas.
While with a fitful fanning,
The lazy wind-mill swings,
About the bloomy peaches
A robin redbreast sings.
And in the far horizon
There dwells such tender hue,
These azure cornflower blossoms
Are not so sweet and blue.