My Morning Minstrel 



My Morning Minstrel 



In sackcloth clad, from hill and plain, 

 The day advances, bathed in tears; 

 But music stirs my sluggish ears, — 



A Robin singing in the rain! 



I rise, and in the dull gray light 

 I see him from my window-seat, 

 The leafless branches 'neath his feet 



Half hid by lingering mists of night. 



Against his draggled front, forlorn, 



The chill March breezes moan and sigh; 

 But still, with head uplifted high, 



He carols bravely to the morn. 



Then I who listen feel a glow — 



A quick thanksgiving — touch my heart; 

 The veil is rent, the mists depart, 



Again the vernal zephyrs blow. 



While, with the song, from everywhere, 

 A sudden flush of spring descends. 

 And, even as the singer ends, 



Sweet breath of blossoms fills the air. 



O happy-throated minstrel mine, 



I bless the dawn that gave thee birth, 

 And set the tenderest chord of earth 



Within that sturdy breast of thine! 



55] 



