Paean
J Jonathan Henderson Brooks
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Across the dewy lawn she treads
Before the sun awakes
While lush, green grasses bow their heads
To kiss the tracks she makes.
The violets, in clusters, stand
And stare her beauty through,
And seem so happy in her hand,
They know not what to do.
She must have come whence zephyrs blow,
From sprites’ or angels’ lands;
Her heart is meet for God to know—
Oh, heaven is where she stands!
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