text:  They dance up to a great tuft of flowers in the midst of the mead; about which they incline reverently and one sings the praise of the "Margarete" or Daisy the others answering in chorus; meanwhile the hour grows to noon; the sun waxes hot; the unsheltered flowers wither; the ladies and the knights of the Flower are scorched with his rays; then the wind rises and furiously blows down all the flowers; then comes on a terrible storm of mixed hail and rain; wets the knights and ladies of the Flower to the skin and at last blows over