Angels, in the early morning,
May be seen the dews among;
Stooping, plucking, smiling, flying:
Do the buds to them belong?
Angels, when the sun is hottest,
May be seen the sands among;
Stooping, plucking, sighing, flying —
Parched the flowers they bear along.
First print Nature poem XVIII, 18
Johnson poem 94 | Franklin poem 73
The text may be used under any of the following licenses:
CREATIVE COMMONS LICENSE 4.0, BY-SA 3.0, and LICENSE 2.5.
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