In the spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.
In the spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.
Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty;
Who doth the world so gloriously behold
That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.
Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories