I awake on that morning with no forecast of what is coming?
I tear myself from my morning dreams with as sleepy unwillingness as usual.

I eat my bread-and-butter with as stolidly healthy an appetite.

I run with as scampering feet, as evenly-beating a heart as is my wont, with little Vick along the garden-walks, in the royal morning sun.

For one of God's own days has come--one that must have lost his way, and strayed from paradise.
It has the steady heat of June, though we are only in mid-April, and the freshness of the prune.

The leaves on the trees are but tender and tiny, and through them the sun sends his might.