  When all the air was filled with song At morning’s early beam, In musing mood I strolled along Beside a placid stream. And as I roved the meadow sweet, What bade my heart rejoice? Was it the daisies at my feet? Nay, nor the songster’s voice. For glancing toward the crystal stream I spied a little child, Upon whose brow the morning beam, With all its beauty smiled: And on her cheek, so wondrous fair, I saw the ruddy glow,— Beheld her locks of flaxen hair Wave gently to and fro. Then with delight I nearer drew, But lo! here ends my theme; I waked—the fairy fled my view— ’Twas but a happy dream. decorative tailpiece |
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