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The Spike: or, Victoria College Review, June 1912



In verdant dales a wreathed flute
Sings out its mellow, gladsome lay,
The morning sunbeams to salute,
And welcome in the joyous day.
"Oh, joy! Oh, joy!" the music shrills,
"Oh, joy! Oh, joy !"ring back the hills.

The lusty sun his foolish face
Thrusts in among the lacèd leaves,
And with his burnished copper mace
Strikes at the golden honey-thieves.
"Oh, joy! Oh, joy!" the music shrills,
"Oh, joy! Oh, joy!" ring back the hills.

But when the leaping sunset flaunts
His farewell signal in the West,
And brooding Night the woodlands haunts,
While wearied creatures seek their rest.
"Forlorn, forlorn," the music thrills,
"Forlorn, forlorn," breathe back the hills.