Across the hilltops comes the spring, blithe April's son!
In doublet, broidered green, White roses sewn between!
He laughs lightly! With hand on hip advances brightly!
Comes to his own like a monarch, his long weary exile done!

The leafy branches crowd along the n arrow byways,
Where comes the lusty lad, He dances there like mad!
He bears a nightingale high on one shoulder hale,
The other bears a blackbird, piping boldly skyways.

And the flow'rs who were sleeping 'mid the mossy wood
Unveil their eyes where shadows are vague and tender,
See them standing on tiptoe straight, there eager ears surrender,
List'ning the two birds singing together the while!

For the blackbird doth pipe And the nightingale chanteth,
The blackbird, whistling, jeers at the lovelorn youth,
And for those in Love's paradise, of smiling lips and eyes,
Nightingale all the wood with melody enchanteth!