Page:National Lyrics.pdf/92

76

Take ye no joy in the day-spring's birth, When it kindles the sparks of dew? And the thousand strains of the forest's mirth, Shall they gladden all but you?

Shut your sweet bells till the fawn comes out On the sunny turf to play, And the woodland child with a fairy shout Goes dancing on its way!

"Nay, let our shadowy beauty bloom   When the stars give quiet light, And let us offer our faint perfume    On the silent shrine of night.

"Call it not wasted, the scent we lend   To the breeze, when no step is nigh; Oh thus for ever the earth should send    Her grateful breath on high!