Gather round our maiden Queen!
Hark! the woods are ringing, ringing,
Thrushes trill and wood-doves coo;
All the birds are singing, singing,
Shall not we be singing, too?
Columbine, the airy lady,
Nods a greeting, light and free;
Where the leaves are cool and shady,
Violets spring for you and me;
Clover-top his red is showing,