I

We are budding, Master, budding
We of your favourite tree;
March drought and April flooding
Arouse us merrily
Our stemlets newly studding;
And yet you do not see!

II

We are fully woven for summer
In stuff of limpest green
The twitterer and the hummer
Here rest of nights, unseen
While like a long-roll drummer
The nightjar thrills the treen

III

We are turning yellow, Master
And next we are turning red
And faster then and faster
Shall seek our rooty bed
All wasted in disastеr!
But you lift not your head
IV

- "I mark your early going
And that you'll soon be clay
I havе seen your summer showing
As in my youthful day;
But why I seem unknowing
Is too sunk in to say!"