Born of the midnight cold,
Wrapped in the scent of mold,
Lie we on bed of moss
Moonlight faintly across.
Day-dawn bringeth unrest,
Twitter of bird in nest,
Jubilant warmth in the air
Allures by a golden stair.
Up through the fragrance of pine
Dazzles the blue like wine,
Earth-mother's weavings begun,
A film for the noon-day sun.
Earth-mother's tissuey veil,
Sport of the rollicking gale,
Ravels all into the sky,
Melts beyond reach of eye,
Cooleth the afternoon 
To emerald evening swoon.
Soft is the bed of moss,
Moonlight faintly across.