Johann Wolfgang Vohe
Through field and wood to stray
And pipe y tuneful y,—
Tis th y days are pass
And all keep tuh ,
And oveharony,
And so on, to the st.
To wait I scarce have power
The gardens earliest flower,
The trees first blooSprg;
They hail y joyo stra,—
When Wter es aga,
Of that sweet drea I sg.
My song sounds far and near,
Oer ice it echoes clear,
Then Wter blossht;