 | The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley |  |
2288
TO BENJ. S. PARKER
You sang the song of rare delight
“'Tis morning and the days are long”—
A morning fresh and fair and bright
As ever dawned in happy song;
A radiant air, and here and there
Were singing birds on sprays of bloom,
And dewy splendors everywhere,
And heavenly breaths of rose perfume—
All rapturous things were in the song
“'Tis morning and the days are long.”
“'Tis morning and the days are long”—
A morning fresh and fair and bright
As ever dawned in happy song;
A radiant air, and here and there
Were singing birds on sprays of bloom,
And dewy splendors everywhere,
And heavenly breaths of rose perfume—
All rapturous things were in the song
“'Tis morning and the days are long.”
O singer of the song divine,
Though now you turn your face away
With never word for me or mine
Nor smile forever and a day,
We guess your meaning, and rejoice
In what has come to you—the meed
Beyond the search of mortal voice
And only in the song indeed—
With you forever, as the song,
“'Tis morning and the days are long.”
Though now you turn your face away
With never word for me or mine
Nor smile forever and a day,
We guess your meaning, and rejoice
In what has come to you—the meed
Beyond the search of mortal voice
And only in the song indeed—
With you forever, as the song,
“'Tis morning and the days are long.”
| The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley | |