Is covered with their petals sweet;
Where'er we go the balmy air
Is laden with sweet fragrance rare.
And now and then, dear, we may see
The cheerful, busy little bee
From out this dainty, crimson flow'r,
Sip nectar for his winter store.
The sky is blue, and there and here
We see a fleecy cloud appear;
Nor tongue nor pen can e'er portray