He danced amid the hawthorn shade,
Before it burst to blossom,
And scattered yellow wild-flowers round
Just where he liked to toss ’em.
Young Spring, Young Spring, Young Spring!
You are a merry creature,
And when you smile, it makes us smile,
Yea—smile in every feature!
Our poets, in the times of old,
O’er-loaded him with praises,