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, 
Wind-flowers 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.