I am a child of the winds and must hasten
The oriole's singing
You claim this is only its nature?
But, oh, I must hurry -
Come, it is ever surprising!
To me it's the freshest, the newest of lyrics -
He's swinging in orchards this minute
With tree-boughs as pink as a sunrise
The sky like a pearl all about him -
The grasses are green - this too, were of
And never a whisper of triteness
The grass is aflame with its ardor
And violets, the violets are peering
Blue-eyed and sudden -
The orchard, the orchard will wait? Not one
It changes from Maytime to Maytime -
Enchants one, surprises
Oh, I am a child of the woods and must hasten!