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It scarcely seems winter, so faint is the breeze
That stirs the green mistletoe there in the trees,
So idly on high float the white clouds along,
So sweet is the note of the meadow-lark's song,
So lazily loiter the herds where they stand,
So warm is the sunshine that lies on the land.


How bright, and far-reaching, from morning till night,
The glint and the glory, on foot-hill and height,
As if a broad mantle of yellowest gold,
O'er vale, mount and mesa, were softly unrolled;
As if Father Time sets his dial to show
That June's darling roses are ready to blow.


So pure is the air, and so crystalline clear,
The Organ peaks cluster so neighborly near
We bid them "Good morning," as if they are friends,
And the blue arch of heaven so lovingly bends
Above us, the spot seems a tropical isle,
Where Summer sheds ever the light of her smile.


New Mexican sunshine! like wine that is old,
And richest of vintage, its amber drops hold
New strength for the weak, and new joy for the strong;
It thrills them, yet soothes, like a lullaby-song,
Brings languor, and peace, till the worn spirit seems
Afloat in a boat, in the harbor of dreams!