A May Morning

A May Morning

What magic flutes are these that make 

Sweet melody at dawn 

And stir the dewy leaves to shake 

Their silver on the lawn?

What miracle of music wrought 

In shadowed groves is this? 

All ecstasy of sound up caught, 

Song's apotheosis! 

The dreaming lilies lift their heads 

To listen and grow wise; 

The fragrant roses from their beds 

In sudden beauty rise. 

Enraptured. on the eastern hill 

A moment halts the sun.

Day breaks, and all again is still; 

The thrushes' song is done!

Frank Dempster Sherman in May Atlantic