Poems (Kimball)/Midsummer Morning

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MIDSUMMER MORNING
DAY rises veiled in amber mists That swathe the hill and shroud the plain; And in the breathless air, unstirred,  The trees are dripping as with rain.
Like tents along the emerald sward  Pitched by the fairies of the night, In the wet grass ephemeral webs  Axe scattered, gleaming silver white.
Dew-drenched the flowers; the heavy vines  Hang from the wall, or trail the ground; And lifeless seems the garden-place,  So lately filled with murmurous sound.
But slowly, slowly lifts the mist— From heaven's blue face it curls away; And through the trembling, glistening leaves  The glorious sunbeams flame and play!
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