His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
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With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou mayest rest
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
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RGB: 102 187 161
HEX: #97D37D
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RGB: 151 211 125
HEX: #139076
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RGB: 19 144 118
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RGB: 202 200 138
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RGB: 239 234 119
