by Rachel Heffington
I've heard that in the halls of old
They plated everything with gold-
The chandeliers, the pillars, floors
With spoils from their latest wars.
Yet all this splendor cannot be
As rich as what is given me.
For every night as soft we sleep
Out in the dark, and midnight deep
A beauteous miracle is done
Before the waking of the sun;
And if I wake just at the dawn
I catch a glimpse of what went on:
Each leaf is clad in crystal cloak,
The grass glimmers in fairy smoke.
The rudest bramble, tinged with rust
Is sprinkled well with diamond-dust.
The thorn, the tree, the hidden flower
Are glittering with a silver shower
And things that never caught my eye
Are regal in their shimmering dye.
This miracle is but for those
Who early from their beds arose
And I can say I'm wealthy quite:
My world is gilded every night!