Hilda Conkling

The Dew-Light

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The Dew-man comes over the mountains wide,
Over the deserts of sand,
With his bag of clear drops
And his brush of feathers.
He scatters brightness.
The white bunnies beg him for dew.
He sprinkles their fur,
They shake themselves.
All the time he is singing
The unknown world is beautiful!

He polishes flowers,
Humming "Oh, beautiful!"
He sings in the soft light
That grows out of the dew,
Out of the misty dew-light that leans over him
He makes his song . . .
It is beautiful, the unknown world!

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Hilda Conkling