My love is in a light attire 
Among the apple-trees, 
Where the gay winds do most desire 
To run in companies. 

There, where the gay winds stay to woo 
The young leaves as they pass, 
My love goes slowly, bending to 
Her shadow on the grass; 

And where the sky's a pale blue cup 
Over the laughing land, 
My love goes lightly, holding up 
Her dress with dainty hand.