Thomas MacDonagh

* * *

When in the forenoon of the year
Fresh flowers and leaves fill all the earth,
I hear glad music, faint and clear,
Singing day's birth.

Its dear delight thrills the dawn through
With melody like an old lay
Of country birds and morning dew
And of the May.

And then I hear the first cock crow,
And then the twitter in the eaves,
And gaze upon the world below
Through green rose leaves.

And see the white mist melt away,
And watch the sleepless sheep come out
Under the trees that hear all day
One cuckoo's shout.

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