To you, troop so fleet, That with winged wandering feet, Through the wide world pass, And with soft murmuring Toss the green shades of spring In woods and grass, Lily and violet I give, and blossoms wet, Roses and dew； This branch of blushing roses, Whose fresh bud uncloses, Windflowers too. Ah, winnow² with sweet breath, Winnow the holt and heath, Round this retreat； Where all the golden morn We fan the gold o' the corn, In the sun's heat.