Sweet May hath come to love us,
Flowers, trees, their blossoms don;
And through the blue heavens read more

Sweet May hath come to love us,
Flowers, trees, their blossoms don;
And through the blue heavens above us
The very clouds move on.

O May, sweet-voice one, going thus before,
Forever June may pour her warm red wine
Of life read more

O May, sweet-voice one, going thus before,
Forever June may pour her warm red wine
Of life and passions,--sweeter days are thine!

Prince Edward all in gold, as he great Jove had been,
The Mountfords all in plumes, like estridges were read more

Prince Edward all in gold, as he great Jove had been,
The Mountfords all in plumes, like estridges were seen.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

Ah! my heart is weary waiting,
Waiting for the May:
Waiting for the pleasant rambles
read more

Ah! my heart is weary waiting,
Waiting for the May:
Waiting for the pleasant rambles
Where the fragrant hawthorn brambles,
Where the woodbine alternating,
Scent the dewy way;
Ah! my heart is weary, waiting,
Waiting for the May.