’t is the blithest, bonniest weather for a bird to flirt a feather,
  For a bird to trill and warble, all his wee red breast a-swell.
I ’ve a secret. You may listen till your blue eyes dance and glisten,
  Little maiden, but I ’ll never, never, never, never tell.

...

What will you give to a barefoot lass,
  Morning with breath like wine?
Wade, bare feet! In my wide morass
  Starry marigolds shine.

Alms, sweet Noon, for a barefoot lass,
  With her laughing looks aglow!
Run, bare feet! In my fragrant grass...

What fragrant-footed comer
  Is stepping o’er my head?
Behold, my queen! the Summer!
  Who deems her warriors dead.
Now rise, ye knights of many fights,
  From out your sleep profound!
Make sharp your spears, my gallant peers,
  And prick...