THE morn is blinking o'er the hills With softened light and colours gay; Through grove and valley sweetly trills The melody of early day; The dewy roses blooming fair Glitter around her father's ha', But still my Mary is not there -- The fairest rose is far awa.' The cooling zephyrs gently blow Along the dew-bespangled mead -- In every field the owsen low -- The careless shepherd tunes his reed -- And while the roses blossom fair, My lute with softly dying fa' Laments that Mary is not there -- The fairest rose is far awa'. The thrush is singing on the hills, And charms the groves that wave around, And through the vale the winding rills Awake a softly murmuring sound; The robin tunes his mellow throat Where glittering roses sweetly blaw, But grieves that Mary hears him not -- The fairest rose is far awa'. Why breathe thy melody in vain Thou lovely songster of the morn -- Why pour thy ever-varying strain Amid the sprays of yonder thorn -- Do not the roses blooming fair, At morning's dawn or evening's fa', Tell thee of one that is not there -- The fairest rose that's far awa'. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HUGH SELWYN MAUBERLEY: 8. BRENNBAUM by EZRA POUND TEARS by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE VIRGILS GNAT: DEDICATORY SONNET by EDMUND SPENSER CASEY AT THE BAT (2) by ERNEST LAWRENCE THAYER TO THE DAISY (1) by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH SIBLINGS OF A GRAYER SKY by NAVEED ALAM |