The Dew Mother
The tall Dew Mother, dressed in grey,
Last night at dusk went down the way,
By winding lane and meadow deep,
And kissed each little flower to sleep.
And some sweet buds so drowsy sat,
They hardly heard her pit-a-pat,——
They scarcely knew that they were found,——
Already dreams had wrapped them round.
But she, so pale and kind and tall,
Her cool, sweet kisses laid on all,
And left each leaf a dewdrop bright
To play with in the morning light.
May Byron.