 | Songs of A Wayfarer |  |
IX.
[Wind thy horn, thou shepherd youth]
Wind thy horn, thou shepherd youth,Wind thy horn with merry mouth:
See o'er the meads fair Flora comes;
Her port rare graces showeth.
For it's happy day when the rose tree blooms,
With hey and with hey, be blithe and merry!
And vanished are the wintry glooms,
And sunshine woos the pouting cherry:
When birds do greet
Their songs full sweet,
And painted blossoms everywhere
With hedgerow scents do take the air.
| Songs of A Wayfarer | |