What shall I do when the Summer troubles --

What shall I do when the Summer troubles -- What, when the Rose is ripe -- What when the Eggs fly off in Music From the Maple Keep?

What shall I do when the Skies a'chirrup Drop a Tune on me -- When the Bee hangs all Noon in the Buttercup What will become of me?

Oh, when the Squirrel fills His Pockets And the Berries stare How can I bear their jocund Faces Thou from Here, so far?

'Twouldn't afflict a Robin -- All His Goods have Wings -- I -- do not fly, so wherefore My Perennial Things?