The Awakening

When sunrise flushed the summer sky
  And purple clouds grew bright,
And little birds sang sweet and low,
  Awaking with the light,

I thought your voice was calling me;
  My heart was hushed to hear,
For I had waked from fairy dreams
  And seemed to find you near.

And though I knew it was the wind
  That stirred the garden fair,
I think I saw you smiling then,
  With sunlight on your hair.

- Helen C. Crane, 1911.