The Wind Waves Oer The Meadows Green And Shakes My Own Wild Flowers And Shifts About The Moving Scene Like The Life Of Summer Hours; The Little Bents With Reedy Head, The Scarce Seen Shapes Of Flowers, All Kink About Like Skeins Of Thread In These Wind-Shaken Hours. All Stir And Strife And Life And Bustle In Everything Around One Sees; The Rushes Whistle, Sedges Rustle, The Grass Is Buzzing Round Like Bees; The Butterflies Are Tossed About Like Skiffs Upon A Stormy Sea; The Bees Are Lost Amid The Rout And Drop In [Their] Perplexity. Wilt Thou Be Mine, Thou Bonny Lass? Thy Drapery Floats So Gracefully; We'll Walk Along The Meadow Grass, We'll Stand Beneath The Willow Tree. We'll Mark The Little Reeling Bee Along The Grassy Ocean Rove, Tossed Like A Little Boat At Sea, And Interchange Our Vows Of Love.