My love is in a light attire     Among the apple-trees,
Where the gay winds do most desire
    To run in companies.
 
There, where the gay winds stay to woo
    The young leaves as they pass,
My love goes slowly, bending to
    Her shadow on the grass;
 
And where the sky’s a pale blue cup
    Over the laughing land,
My love goes lightly, holding up
    Her dress with dainty hand.