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Updated: May 26, 2025
All hail, light of day! Thy sweet gushing ray Pours down its soft warmth over pasture and field; With hues silver-tinged The meadows are fringed, And numberless suns in the dewdrop revealed. Young Nature invades The whispering shades, Displaying each ravishing charm; The soft zephyr blows, And kisses the rose, The plain is sweet-scented with balm. How high from yon city the smoke-clouds ascend!
And the first thing you know you feel yourself being wafted through the window, up through the silver-tinged air. You touch the clouds with your magic wand, and from them fall shimmering jewels. Missy was fourteen, going on fifteen, but she could still play being a fairy. But to-night, though the fairy path stretched invitingly to her very bed, she did not ride out upon it.
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