'Mid grassy beds and moss-grown banks,
And on them smile, and kiss them, too,
While they will sweetly blush their thanks,
And drink thy health in drops of dew;
Inhale the blossom-scented breeze
Within thy oscillating zone,
And never cough, nor even sneeze,
So sound thy swan-like throat has grown.
Then will thy happy voice be heard
Amid sweet spring's melodious throng;