Classic Poem

On the forest, on the meadow,
When the morning first is gray,
Drips, from Paradise out-welling,
Soft and cool, the dew of May.
All that fills May's sacred temple
With each fresh and fair delight,
Leaf's enamel, blossom's beauty,
Scent and fragrance prove its might.

When such dew the oyster drinketh,
Soon is formed a pearly drop;
When in oaken trunks it sinketh,
Honey-bees soon swarm atop;
If the bird, while onward flying,
Dip therein his tiny bill,
Soon he learns the happy carols
Which through solemn woodlands thrill.

With the dew from May-buds shaken
Oft the damsel wets her face,
Oft she bathes her golden ringlets;
Shines she then with heavenly grace.
Many an eye that's red with weeping
Finds how fresh the dewdrops are;
Soon beholds how friendly shineth,
Dim with mists, the morning star.

Pour on ME thy kindly healing,
Gentle balm for every smart!
On mine eyelids softly trickle,
Give to drink my thirsty heart.
Give me youth and love of singing,
Give me heavenly forms to view;
Aid mine eyes to bear the sunlight,
Soft, refreshful morning-dew!