And the beautiful birds from the sunny glade,
Sit nodding amongst the flowers.
While the holy child of the mountain spring,
Steals past with a murmur’d song,
And the wild bee sleeps in the bells that swing
Its garlanded banks along.
And spotted fawns, where the vines are twin’d,
Are dancing away the hours,
With feet as light as the summer wind
That hardly bends the flowers.