To you light troupe that rydeOn movynge wings and glyde Above the world and slake it,And with your murmur softMove the green shade and oft With gentle tremors shake it --
For you I violets cull,And flowers beautiful. These roses and these lilies, --These roses all soe redAnd newly openéd, These pinks and daffodillies.
Nowe with your gentle breathBreathe on the plaine beneath. And lightly fan this meadowe,Whyle I doe sweat and straineAt threshynge of my graine, And noon is without shadowe.
