Ballads and Lyrics of Old France (8)

    To you, troop so fleet, That with winged wandering feet, Through the wide world pass, And with soft murmuring Toss the green shades of spring In woods and grass, Lily and violet I give, and blossoms wet, Roses and dew； This branch of blushing roses, Whose fresh bud uncloses, Windflowers too. Ah, winnow with sweet breath, Winnow the holt and heath, Round this retreat； Where all the golden morn We fan the gold o' the corn, In the sun's heat.