I 

The dawn laughs out on orient hills 
And dances with the diamond rills; 
The ambrosial wind but faintly stirs 
The silken, beaded gossamers; 
In the wide valleys, lone and fair, 
Lyrics are piped from limpid air, 
And, far above, the pine trees free 
Voice ancient lore of sky and sea. 
Come, let us fill our hearts straightway 
With hope and courage of the day. 


II 

Noon, hiving sweets of sun and flower, 
Has fallen on dreams in wayside bower, 
Where bees hold honeyed fellowship 
With the ripe blossom of her lip; 
All silent are her poppied vales 
And all her long Arcadian dales, 
Where idleness is gathered up 
A magic draught in summer's cup. 
Come, let us give ourselves to dreams 
By lisping margins of her streams. 


III 

Adown the golden sunset way 
The evening comes in wimple gray; 
By burnished shore and silver lake 
Cool winds of ministration wake; 
O'er occidental meadows far 
There shines the light of moon and star, 
And sweet, low-tinkling music rings 
About the lips of haunted springs. 
In quietude of earth and air 
'Tis meet we yield our souls to prayer.