Never was sun so bright before, No matin of the lark so sweet, No grass so green beneath my feet, Nor with such dewdrops jewelled o'er. I stand with thee outside the door, The air not yet is close with heat, And far across the yellowing wheat The waves are breaking on the shore. A lovely day! Yet many such, Each like to each, this month have passed, And none did so supremely shine. One thing they lacked: the perfect touch Of thee--and thou art come at last, And half this loveliness is thine.