Airy Tongues by Madison Cawein — Read

I. I hear a song the wet leaves lisp / When Morn comes down the woodland way; / And misty as a thistle-wisp / Her gown gleams windy gray; / A song, that seems to say, / "Awake! 'tis day!"

I hear a sigh, when Day sits down / Beside the sunlight-lulled lagoon; / While on her glistening hair and gown / The rose of rest is strewn; / A sigh, that seems to croon, / "Come sleep! 'tis noon!"