To you, light troop, I bring,
(You, who with wandering wing
Over the wide world pass,
And, when your murmurings wake,
So sweetly trouble and shake
The shadow-shaken grass)

I bring these violets,
Lilies and flowerets,
I bring these roses too;
These roses rosy-red
Are freshly gathered;
These pinks I bring for you.

With your cool breath and sweet
This plain a-stir with heat
In passing fan, I pray;
The while I labour sore
At my wheat-winnowing floor
About the heat of day.