Where sleeping buds do lie in wait
where every flower sighs,
the summer breeze comes not too late
as Springs cool chill dies,


Bluebirds in the sky do sing
as down below they dance,
turning lines and in a ring
gives revelry a chance,


Swirling dress and laughter
rings around the wooded grove,
as masks before and after
lie above the skirts they wove,


The dancers in their frenzy
do not realize right from wrong,
as high above the crowded wood
the bluebirds stop their song