Make way, make way, give leave to rove Under your orchard as above; A yearly welcome if ye love! And all who loved us alway throve. Love for love. For ever we When some unfriended man we see Lifeless under forest-eaves, Cover him with buds and leaves; And charge the chipmunk, mouse, and mole -- Molest not this poor human soul! Then let us never on green floor Where your paths wind round about, Keep to the middle in misdoubt, Shy and aloof, unsure of ye; But come like grass to stones on moor, Wherever mortals be. But toss your caps, O maids and men, Snow-bound long in farm-house pen: We chase Old Winter back to den. See our red waistcoats! Alive be then -- Alive to the bridal-favors when They blossom your orchards every Spring, And cock-robin curves on a bridegroom's wing! |