Madrigal
By George Sterling
Maiden, doff thy dream, and rise! Morning's rose is in the skies; In the meadow I can hear Birds in chorus crystal-clear. Maiden, rise, and fare with me Where expectant flowers be— Blossoms holding thee in hope: When thou comest, they will ope. What to me is any bird, If it sing by thee unheard? What is any lovely spot, If its blossoms know thee not?