MAY IN LOWA.

MAY IN LOWA.
597.3

This is the sweetest time of all the year;
The air is cool; with clouds of silver sheen
The skies are flecked, and lovely and serene
The golden sun shines down, while sweet
and clear The glad birds sing in fields and wood- fands near;
Beneath one’s feet the grass grows fresh and green,
And in the fragrant woods the violets lean.
Their blue eyes wet, perhaps with many a tear
Of crystal dew. The sunny. woodland bowers
Are full of joyous sounds; not birds alone
Make music there, but cattle roam about
In dell and hollow, and the silver toue
Of bells is sheard, and children picking flowers
Beneath the spreading branches laugh and shout.