Scattering through the air some thatchings,
Tearing some old woman's clothing
Till she signs the cross in praying!
But you fir-trees know me better,
Me, the fair Spring's thorough cleaner,
Who what's mouldy sweeps afar off--
Who what's rotten blows to pieces--
Who the earth's domain well cleanses,
That his radiant Lord and Master
Worthily may make his entrance.