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Rk. H. Stoddard. 
OME, all ye virgins fair in kirtles white, 
Ye debonair and merry-hearted maids, 
Who have been out in troops before the light, 
And gathered blossoms in the woodland shades,— 
The foot-prints of the fiery-sandalled day 
Are glowing in the sky like kindling coals, 
The clouds are golden rimmed like burning scrolls, 
Jagged and fringed, and darkness melts away ; 
The shrine is wreathed with leaves, the holy urns 
Brimming with morning dew are laid thereby, 
The censers swing, the odorous incense burns, 
And floats in misty volumes up the sky ;— 
Lay down your garlands and your baskets trim, 
Heaped up with floral offerings to the brim, 
And knit your little hands, and trip away 
With light and nimble feet 
To music soft and sweet, 
And celebrate the joyous break of day, 
And sing a hymn to Flora, Queen of May. 


