Her Feet have touched the Meadows

I wish the Mead could utter words of reason
Like the parrot in his glass!
Then it would tell me what it felt this season
And how overjoyed it was,
When my lady there did pass
Gathering flowers, and her fair feet tripped over
All its green and gentle grass.

How great, Sir Meadow, must have been your pleasure,
When my lady, passing o'er,
Stretched her white hands out to grasp the treasure
Of the lovely flowers you bore!
Sir Mead, now grant me, I implore,
With my feet those self-same spots to cover
Where my lady trod before!

Sir Meadow, pray that my hard lot she soften,
That lady whom I think so sweet!
So will I wish she yet may wander often
Over you with naked feet.
Then you'll laugh at snow and sleet.
All my heart will blossom like your clover,
If one kind look from her I meet.