Maw. 
Willis. 
H, the merry day has pleasant hours, 
And dreamily they glide, 
As if they floated like the leaves 
Upon a silver tide. 
The trees are full of crimson buds, 
And the woods are full of birds, 
And the waters flow to music, 
Like a tune with pleasant words. 
The verdure of the meadow-land 
Is creeping to the hills, 
The sweet, blue-blossom’d violets 
Are blowing by the rills ; 
The lilac has a load of balm 
For every wind that stirs, 
And the larch stands green and beautiful 
Amid the sombre firs. 
There’s perfume upon every wind— 
Music in every tree 
Dews for the moisture-loving flowers, 
Sweets for the sucking bee; 






