Come, who buys? I bring to sell
Winds that tall grasses have rocked into slumbering!
Come, who buys? I offer as well
Nightingale songs, meadow-stored beyond numbering!
Hurry, hurry ... for I bring to sell
Maytime, drunk with the spring floods to ebriety!
There you are! I've flower-honey as well
Soaked in the humming of bees to satiety.
Hurry along there! ... for I bring to sell
Sunshine and lightning (you'll know just by feeling it!)
No need to haggle! A give-away! well,
This green cloud of summer is (there's no concealing it)
A waggon of fragrant new hay!