I dearly love those rich moist meadow plains
Covered in Spring with gay buttercups of gold;
I love the winding brook with its waters cold,
And all that grows and breathes and blooms again.
I love the lapwings, as through the grass they breeze,
And the butterflies beneath the sun's carress,
The aged willow in its newly fashioned dress,
The woodpecker, as it drills the tan-barked trees.
I love to see the boys at Easter time
Distributing gay colored Easter eggs
The maiden, who serenely and sublime
Asks of the brook: “What is it my lover begs?”
Whereupon she leaps and picks a bloom in haste,
And wades to her skirts across the golden waste.