Margery Berridge Grey

WHEN with crimson tints and rare

Phoebus paints the world so fair,

Then, thou morning minstrel, rise;

Flood with melody the skies!

When the dawn’s gates ope again,

Swell thy tuneful throat! oh! then

Serenade the silver stars,

Peeping through the morn’s pale bars.

When the azure mists of night

Flee before the morning light,

Pour forth harmony above,

And softly wake my sleeping love!