Or stars of morning, dew-drops which the sun Impearls on every leaf and every flower.

Dew-drops are the gems of morning, But the tears of mournful eve!

Dewdrops, Nature's tears, which she Sheds in her own breast for the fair which die. The sun insists on gladness; but at night, When he is gone, poor Nature loves to weep.

I must go seek some dewdrops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

The dew, 'Tis of the tears which stars weep, sweet with joy.

And every dew-drop paints a bow.