  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. 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.
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