Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May, that doth inspire
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire;
Woods and groves are of thy dressing,
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing,
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.
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For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the
May.
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the
May.
Oh! that we two were Maying
Down the stream of the soft spring breeze;
Like children with read more
Oh! that we two were Maying
Down the stream of the soft spring breeze;
Like children with violets playing,
In the shade of the whispering trees.
For every marriage then is best in tune,
When that the wife is May, the husband June.
For every marriage then is best in tune,
When that the wife is May, the husband June.
In the under-wood and the over-wood
There is murmur and trill this day,
For every bird is read more
In the under-wood and the over-wood
There is murmur and trill this day,
For every bird is in lyric mood,
And the wind will have its way.
Among the changing months, May stands confest
The sweetest, and in fairest colors dressed.
Among the changing months, May stands confest
The sweetest, and in fairest colors dressed.
All furnished, all in arms;
All plum'd like estridges that with the wind
Bated like eagles having read more
All furnished, all in arms;
All plum'd like estridges that with the wind
Bated like eagles having lately bathed;
Glittering in golden coats like images;
As full of spirit as the month of May
And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer;
Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.
Another May new buds and flowers shall bring:
Ah! why has happiness no second Spring?
Another May new buds and flowers shall bring:
Ah! why has happiness no second Spring?
There's her cousin, an she were not possessed with a fury,
exceeds her as much in beauty as the read more
There's her cousin, an she were not possessed with a fury,
exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last
of December.
When May, with cowslip-braided locks,
Walks through the land in green attire.
And burns in meadow-grass the read more
When May, with cowslip-braided locks,
Walks through the land in green attire.
And burns in meadow-grass the phlox
His torch of purple fire:
. . . .
And when the punctual May arrives,
With cowslip-garland on her brow,
We know what once she gave our lives,
And cannot give us now!
