The apple-blossoms scatter down—a scented summer
snow,
An' man an' wind an' cloud an' sun have all begun
to sow.
The green hopes come a-sproutin' up somewhere
inside o' me,
An' it's time we ought to see the sprouts upon the
ven'son-tree.
The velvet leaves the willow an' adorns the ven'son
bough,