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 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.
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.
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!
Who first beholds the light of day
In Spring's sweet flowery month of May
And wears an read more
Who first beholds the light of day
In Spring's sweet flowery month of May
And wears an Emerald all her life,
Shall be a loved and happy wife.
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.
For it ne sits not unto fresh May
Forto be coupled to cold January.
For it ne sits not unto fresh May
Forto be coupled to cold January.
Hebe's here, May is here!
The air is fresh and sunny;
And the miser-bees are busy
read more
Hebe's here, May is here!
The air is fresh and sunny;
And the miser-bees are busy
Hoarding golden honey.
O month when they who love must love and wed.
O month when they who love must love and wed.
May, queen of blossoms,
And fulfilling flowers,
With what pretty music
Shall we charm read more
May, queen of blossoms,
And fulfilling flowers,
With what pretty music
Shall we charm the hours?
Wilt thou have pipe and reed,
Blown in the open mead?
Or to the lute give heed
In the green bowers.
