Orchards In The Spring-Time! Oh, I Think And Think Of Them,-- Filmy Mists Of Pink And White Above The Fresh, Young Green, Lifting And Drifting,--How My Eyes Could Drink Of Them, I'm Staring At A Dirty Wall Beyond A Big Machine. Orchards In The Spring-Time! Deep In Soft, Cool Shadows,-- Moving All Together When The West Wind Blows Fragrance Upon Fragrance Over Road And Meadows-- I'm Smelling Heat And Oil And Sweat, And Thick, Black Clothes. Orchards In The Spring-Time! The Clean White And Pink Of Them Lifting And Drifting With All The Winds That Blow. Orchards In The Spring-Time! Thank God I Still Can Think Of Them! You're Not Docked For Thinking,--If The Foreman Doesn't Know.