Spring

There's a flush on the face of the apple trees

There are buds and blossoms and leaves all over.

The bees have found oh, the small, wise bees!

There's a green lane full of sweet clover.

My love is a maid with a rose for a mouth,

And I hear her voice when the linnets sing.

My love is a dream from the soft, sweet South,

My love is a maid, and her name,

her name is Spring.