With beauteous flower-buds in his hand,
Concert. With speed, with speed.
Solo. Open windows, open hearts!
Concert. Swiftly, swiftly!
Solo. The brave young South-wind stands below,
With round red cheeks and eyes aglow,
And blows that doors and windows rattle,
Till Winter yields him in the battle—
Concert. With speed, with speed.
Concert. Open windows, open hearts!