So Much Dew

So much dew, so much too much too much dew,
Gentling the lawn the dawn comes visitor to! —
There’s not a grass-blade that’s not ringing, ringing
With silver bells, — jewels to jewels clinging.
I had expected some few sober spare
Teardrops on this squirrels’ thoroughfare,
This marching-ground for ants, this green pavilion
Awning the moles, that robins piccadilly on.
But this immense bright silveriness, this sea
Thrown brilliant on the clover’s beggary!
One could almost imagine, surmise, gather
That heaven had come to earth, or kissed it rather,
Or even entertain a thought as odd
As that to a village maid descended God.