Some morns are so inexpressible,
Are so inexpressible,
That one fails to decipher
How to paint them up,
Like a morn arriving with dew drops
Hanging like little beads of diamonds on railings,
And a foggy light overwhelming,
And songs heard floating,
Some morns are so divine,
So full of happiness,
That one wonders
What can not words do?
What not a moment can hold?
Are so filled with misty gold
That feeling them one turns emerald,