Here we come a-piping,
   In springtime and in May;
   Green fruit a-ripening,
   And Winter fled away.
   The Queen she sits upon the strand,
   Fair as lily, white as wand;
   Seven billows on the sea,
   Horses riding fast and free,
   And bells beyond the sand.

    Into the scented woods we'll go,
    And see the blackthorn swim in snow.
    High above, in the budding leaves,
    A brooding dove awakes and grieves;
    The glades with mingled music stir,
    And wildly laughs the woodpecker.
    When blackthorn petals pearl the breeze,
    There are the twisted hawthorne trees
    Thick-set with buds, as clear and pale
    As golden water or green hail--
    As if a storm of rain had stood
    Enchanted in the thorny wood,
    And, hearing fairy voices call,
    Hung poised, forgetting how to fall.

	Round about, round about,
	  In a fair ring-a,
	Thus we dance, thus we dance,
	  And thus we sing-a,
	Trip and go, to and fro
	  Over this green-a,
	All about, in and out,
	  For our brave Queen-a.

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