The Piper plays for Springtime
His dulcet minuet
That whispers through the air and greening leaves
The bubbling brook will echo
Where the ivys climbing yet
The warm and gentle melody he weaves
The minuet is faint now
But grow it ever will
Until resounding through the world it blows
For now though death is lingering
And the trees are frozen still
The seed beneath the ground slowly grows
