The stream is flowing,

The small birds twitter,

The lake doth glitter.

The green field sleeps in the sun;

The oldest and youngest.

Are at work with the strongest;

The cattle are grazing,

Their heads never raising;

There are forty feeding like one!

Like an army defeated,

The snow hath retreated,

And now doth fare ill,

On the top of the bare hill;

The plowboy is whooping, anon-anon:

There's joy in the mountains;

There's life in the fountains;

Small clouds are sailing,

Blue sky prevailing;