Beneath These Fruit-Tree Boughs That Shed Their Snow-White Blossoms On My Head, With Brightest Sunshine Round Me Spread Of Spring'S Unclouded Weather, In This Sequestered Nook How Sweet To Sit Upon My Orchard-Seat! And Birds And Flowers Once More To Greet, My Last Year'S Friends Together. One Have I Marked, The Happiest Guest In All This Covert Of The Blest: Hail To Thee, Far Above The Rest In Joy Of Voice And Pinion! Thou, Linnet! In Thy Green Array, Presiding Spirit Here To-Day, Dost Lead The Revels Of The May; And This Is Thy Dominion. While Birds, And Butterflies, And Flowers, Make All One Band Of Paramours, Thou, Ranging Up And Down The Bowers, Art Sole In Thy Employment: A Life, A Presence Like The Air, Scattering Thy Gladness Without Care, Too Blest With Any One To Pair; Thyself Thy Own Enjoyment. Amid Yon Tuft Of Hazel Trees, That Twinkle To The Gusty Breeze, Behold Him Perched In Ecstasies, Yet Seeming Still To Hover; There! Where The Flutter Of His Wings Upon His Back And Body Flings Shadows And Sunny Glimmerings, That Cover Him All Over. My Dazzled Sight He Oft Deceives, A Brother Of The Dancing Leaves; Then Flits, And From The Cottage-Eaves Pours Forth His Song In Gushes; As If By That Exulting Strain He Mocked And Treated With Disdain The Voiceless Form He Chose To Feign, While Fluttering In The Bushes.