WHEN morning is high o'er the hilltops br On river and stream and lake, br Wherever a young breeze whispers, br The sun-clad dancers wake. br One after one up-springing, br They flash from their dim retreat. br Merry as running laughter br Is the news of their twinkling feet. br Over the floors of azure br Wherever the wind-flaws run, br Sparkling, leaping, and racing, br Their antics scatter the sun. br As long as water ripples br And weather is clear and glad, br Day after day they are dancing, br Never a moment sad. br But when through the field of heaven br The wings of storm take flight, br At a touch of the flying shadows br They falter and slip from sight. br Until at the gray day's ending, br As the squadrons of cloud retire, br They pass in the triumph of sunset br With banners of crimson fire.